


craters and petals (concrete and metal)

by lotts (LottieAnna)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Coming Out, Dresses with Pockets, F/F, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Light Angst, Pining, Podfic Available, Rule 63, Spontaneous Haircuts of Gay Solidarity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-05 18:47:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15869574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LottieAnna/pseuds/lotts
Summary: “So,” Nolan says. “This stupid choice.”“Right, so, in my defense: no one ever tells you that if you’re in love with someone, you shouldn’t plan a romantic trip to Vegas with them,” Travis says.(A story about messy feelings and best friends.)





	craters and petals (concrete and metal)

**Author's Note:**

> IF YOU FOUND THIS THROUGH GOOGLING, KNOW ANYONE MENTIONED IN THIS STORY PERSONALLY, OR ARE MENTIONED YOURSELF: please, please click away. This is a work of fiction and nothing written in this story is true. Any accurate information used in this story is publicly available information about public figures, the rest is made up, 100%. Please keep this work confined to fan spaces and away from the eyes of the people mentioned herein!
> 
> i saw [this tweet](https://twitter.com/lesbianjeesuz/status/1028597370383032322) and naturally thought, "ah, yes, lawson crouse is a lesbian." things sort of spiraled from there, and here we are, 32k later. 
> 
> i followed their schedules p closely! [the article](https://www.nbcsports.com/philadelphia/flyers/kids-will-be-kids-and-flyers-love-it) mentioned in the story about nolan and tk's friendship is very real. starts after the flyers game on feb 6; [twitter snooping](https://twitter.com/Andrea_Helfrich/status/961349023390105600) (thx loml andrea queen of flyers tv) tells me [this video](https://twitter.com/Andrea_Helfrich/status/962898439347597313) of tk dancing to 'party in the usa' was taken feb. 7th. here's [ another video](https://twitter.com/Andrea_Helfrich/status/962898439347597313) of it. i think the [karaoke video](https://www.nhl.com/flyers/video/flyers-favorite-karaoke-song/t-277437426/c-58475903) was filmed a different day but travis is wearing the same godawful hoodie and shirt underneath and black snapback so who really knows. 
> 
> warnings containing spoilers in the endnotes; undying and everlasting thanks to julia, mar, ash, ali, sarah, christa, and rachel, along with everyone on twitter who saw this fic consume my soul. a special shoutout to my personal lord and savior alex desprintcat.

 

**** Travis knows before their lips even touch that Nolan Patrick is going to be the last boy she ever kisses. 

It’s pretty unfortunate, actually; she’s had this annoying thing for him for a while, and she was so sure it was a crush, but then she’s actually leaning in to kiss him, and she just— she wishes he was a girl. A particular girl, if she’s being truly honest with herself, and it just kind of sucks, because she really does like Nolan. He’s fun to make fun of, and one of her best friends, and if Travis were to like any guy, it would be him. 

But maybe the fact that it’s taken her three months of loudly whining about her ‘crush’ to do anything about it should’ve been some indication that she didn’t actually care. Sure, crushes are scary, but this is Nolan. TK has never once in her life been scared of him, which she’d tried to pretend was because of some super immediate romantic connection. 

Really, TK just… hadn’t been super motivated to kiss him, ever. 

Oh well. The illusion was nice while it lasted. 

The kiss is over as soon as it’s started, just a quick peck before Travis is pulling away, a little horrified. 

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” she says, wiping at her mouth like that will somehow erase the awkwardness of the fact that their lips were touching a few seconds ago. 

“It’s okay,” Nolan says, his face going a shade of tomato-red that means he’s genuinely flustered, which Travis is notably terrible at handling. 

So, this is going great. 

“I really shouldn’t have done that,” Travis says, a little mortified. “Holy shit, I’m so fucking sorry.” 

“I mean, it’s fine if you—” 

“I like girls,” Travis says, cutting Nolan off. “Like, exclusively.” 

“You— what?” Nolan says, looking a little bewildered, which is probably fair. 

“Yeah, wow, I just sort of—” Travis shakes her head, trying and failing to clear her thoughts. “Holy shit, Nol, I think I’m gay.” 

“That’s… not what I expected to hear,” Nolan says. 

“Yeah,” Travis says. “It’s sort of a recent development.” 

“How recent?” 

“Um.” Travis looks around the room, not quite sure what she’s searching for. Maybe a clock on the wall, except that doesn’t make sense, because the last time she saw an actual analog clock was when she was still in school. “Like, thirty seconds ago?” 

“Oh,” Nolan says. “That’s pretty recent.” 

“I mean, it’s not— you’re a fine kisser, I’m sure—” 

“No, yeah, I didn’t assume—” 

“It’s just one of those weird timing things—” 

“It’s okay,” Nolan says. “I’m, uh. Happy for you.” 

“Thanks,” Travis says, a little absently. “Wow, this is— I’m really gay.” 

Nolan nods, a little awkward. “So, I guess this means you’re cool with us just being friends?” 

“Yeah,” Travis says. “God, what do I do?” 

“What do you mean?” Nolan says.

“Like, I’m gay,” Travis says. “So— I don’t know. What’s my first step? Where do I go from here?” 

“I’m really not the best person to ask,” Nolan says. “Maybe talk to Claude? She’s, like, got a girlfriend, and all that stuff.” 

Travis has been a lesbian for one disastrous minute; Claude is engaged to be married to a beautiful woman and has two adorable dogs and is generally living a perfect gay life. She’s on a different plane of gay existence, and Travis has always thought of it as pretty aspirational—which, in hindsight, should’ve maybe tipped her off about things a little earlier—but she doesn’t know how to talk about this shit with her best friend on the team, let alone a verified top-tier lesbian.

“I don’t know if I’m ready to make this into a team thing,” Travis says. “God, what do I— should I tell my mom? Do I have to call, or can I just text?” 

“Tell your mom if you feel like telling your mom,” Nolan says. “You don’t have to tell anyone if you don’t want to, I don’t think.” 

“It’s not that I don’t want to tell people, I just— I don’t want to  _ tell  _ them.” She scrunches her nose, trying to figure out how to word it best. “Like, I just want them to know without it being a whole conversation, but— that’s off-topic. Whatever. Focus on the big problem here.”

“What’s the big problem?” 

“I’m a lesbian,” Travis says. “How do I be a lesbian?” She’s waving her hands in some vague gesture that she hopes indicates the magnitude of this, but Nolan still mostly looks confused. 

“I think you just… be,” Nolan says. “You live your life, but you’re also gay, right?” 

Travis groans. “Oh my god, you’re so useless at this stuff.” 

“I’m sorry!” Nolan says. “I’ve never been a lesbian before, dude.” 

“Fuck it, I’m gonna research,” Travis says, grabbing her phone. 

“Alright,” Nolan says. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Buckle down and hit the books with me,” Travis says. “Or, metaphorically. We’re going to google shit.” 

“What kind of shit are we googling?” 

“I don’t know, I’m looking for an article that’s like, ‘so you just realized you’re a lesbian, here’s what to do’. Anything like that.”

“I’m looking up if there are any lesbian country singers,” Nolan says. “That’s relevant, right?” 

“We’ll need a soundtrack,” Travis agrees. 

Then, she settles into her hotel bed, rests her computer in her lap, and starts searching. 

…… 

The issue is, there’s no actual beginner’s guide to being gay. 

Logically, Travis knows that there’s not much she can really  _ do;  _ it’s just that she’s gay, which isn’t really a new thing, but she’s handling it differently. She doesn’t want to bother with coming out for the time being, and definitely doesn’t want to worry about actually meeting girls, and beyond watching movies and TV shows and reading countless articles on gay culture, or whatever, there’s no definitive action she’s supposed to be taking. Theoretically, her life can continue as normal, because hockey is the same whether you’re in the closet or not, and hockey’s the thing she eats, sleeps, and breathes. 

Except Travis is having a hard time wrapping her head around that, because she’s gay, and now her whole world is different. 

She never thought of herself as the kind of person who cared about her sex life and dating life all that much, but she’s been a lesbian for less than 24 hours, and suddenly, she can’t stop thinking about the fact that she’s maybe going to actually go on dates with girls, and the weirdest part is, she’s actually looking forward to it. She’s never actually  _ wanted  _ to date people before; the idea of having to act polite for some boring guy she met on Tinder or whatever has, up until this point, been her literal nightmare. 

Except now she doesn’t have to date boring guys. She gets to date  _ girls,  _ maybe ones who like hockey or hunting or country music, and definitely ones who like other girls. They could be like the girls Travis sees in pictures of pride parades, with wide smiles and asymmetrical haircuts and cute temporary tattoos with rainbows on them; girls who look smart and happy and have always put a weird aching feeling in Travis’ chest, which, in hindsight, was probably some combination of lust and jealousy that she couldn’t put a name to without admitting some things to herself.

Travis could date girls like  _ that. _ Hell, Travis could  _ be  _ a girl like that, decked out in rainbows without a care in the world. 

Unfortunately, there are no pride parades coming up in the near future, so she’ll have to figure out how to be gay in the meantime. 

On the whole, Travis is a pretty focused person, but the day after the big night of realizations, the only thing in her brain during practice is an unending string of  _ I’m gay I’m gay I’m gay  _ on an irritating and incredibly distracting loop. The most frustrating thing about it is that she knows there’s nothing she can do but just exist and be gay, or maybe talk to a few people about being gay, but she doesn’t want to make a big deal about it, even if she kind of wants to buy a neon sign that says  _ LESBIAN  _ and wear it over her head every day, just so people know where her mindset is at right now. 

Gay shit, Travis decides, is really confusing and overwhelming. Sort of like agony, except a version of agony that might be the best feeling in the world. 

Still, she thinks she should have a free pass to get out of some activities, at least when she’s still adjusting to the whole ‘being gay’ thing. Like, she’s waiting for Andrea to interview her for some Flyers TV thing, and there’s really no way anyone can expect her to handle that, because right now, all Travis can really do is stare at her 

“Teeks,” Nolan says, nudging her with his elbow. “What’s going on?” 

“She,” is the only word Travis manages to say, because Andrea is right there, and Travis doesn’t want to be dramatic, but she’s probably looking at Andrea like she’s seeing her for the first time. She’s always been incredibly pretty, and even if she goes out of her way to be as annoying as possible, she’s always had this giggle that makes Travis not mind it quite as much, and now that Travis is aware that this is a thing she’s allowed to feel, she can admit that Andrea is just really,  _ really  _ hot. 

“What?” Nolan says. 

Travis turns around, her face burning as she watches Andrea toss her hair over her shoulder out of the corner of her eye. “I can’t do this.” 

“Can’t do what?” 

“Talk to her,” Travis says. “She’s gonna smile, and ask me to do something stupid, and I’m just gonna do it, and it’s gonna be awful.” 

“You lost me, dude,” Nolan says. 

Travis lowers her voice, leaning in so Nolan can hear it when she hisses, “She’s  _ pretty.”  _

“Uh,” Nolan says. “Yeah?” 

“So,” Travis says, gesturing to herself before putting her hands out and waiting for Nolan to catch on. 

“What’re you—” 

“For fuck’s sake,” Travis says. “You can’t put me in front of a camera with a beautiful woman whose job is to get me to make an idiot of myself.” 

Nolan looks at her for a long second, like he’s trying to figure out whether or not she’s being serious. “Wow, that’s— uh. Really gay.”

“I know,” Travis whines. “Fuck, man, no one warns you about shit like this. I’m gonna ruin my life over one pretty girl before I’ve even been a lesbian for a full day.” 

“You’ll be fine,” Nolan says. “It’s just an interview.” 

“She’s asking our favorite karaoke songs,” Travis says, brushing him off, because he clearly doesn’t understand the urgency of the situation. “Oh my god, she’s gonna ask me to  _ sing _ . I’m gonna sing on camera, and then I’ll have to come out to everyone I know so I can explain that I had no choice because a pretty girl asked me to—” 

“Jesus christ, TK,  _ breathe,”  _ Nolan says. “Just— remind yourself not to sing.” 

“Can’t do it,” Travis says. 

“You can,” Nolan says, firm. “As soon as she asks you what your favorite karaoke song is, just say ‘I won’t sing it, but,’ and then answer.” 

“She’ll still bug me to,” Travis says. “That’s her whole thing.” 

“Okay, but once you’ve already said no, your instincts will kick in. You’re at least as stubborn as you are gay, right?” 

“Right,” Travis says, nodding. “Okay. Right. Thanks for that.” 

“No problem,” Nolan says. 

“You’re the one true ally,” Travis says, and then Simmer makes some comment about ‘the kids’ whispering and starts to make kissy faces, and Travis has to turn away so she can flip him off as Nolan rolls his eyes and pretends not to blush. 

…… 

Travis manages to hold off on singing ‘Party in the USA’ for an admirably long time, but eventually she caves, because Andrea has batting her eyelashes down to a fucking science. If the news breaks someday that Andrea Helfrich is a literal witch-enchantress-siren-whatever whose sole purpose in life is to ruin Travis, she won’t be surprised to hear it.

Her day doesn’t even have the decency to improve from there, too. She and Patty both get interviewed by NBC for some article about their friendship, which the guys tease them relentlessly about all day, only getting worse when the article goes live that night. It’s not even the worst thing in the world, honestly, but the timing is pretty shitty, because Travis isn’t really in the mood to feel self-conscious about how close the two of them are. She’s going through some shit; she’d like to have her best friend there to help her. 

So she’s already in a bad mood, and then Lawson texts her. 

Normally, a text from Lawson would immediately cheer her up, and it does, for a fraction of a second, before Travis’ whole world comes crashing down around her, and she’s left in the rubble of her own confusion, trying to sort through it all. 

The last thing she and Lawson had texted about was Nolan, which was apparently only yesterday, and that’s kind of hilarious to Travis. Pretending to like guys doesn’t feel like something any recent version of Travis could have done, but apparently she had, considering her last text to Lawson had been,  _ okay he’s back im gonna do it,  _ and her last text from Lawson had been  _ good luck ily xoxoxo.  _ The timestamps are there, but it just— it feels like ages ago, when Travis had told herself that her and Patty made sense, and that she should date him because she liked him well enough and that it would be alright, which was as good as she could picture a relationship being. 

Travis is still pretty new to this whole ‘being gay’ thing, but she’s pretty sure admitting it to herself was one of the better choices she’s ever made. 

But the thing is, Lawson’s newest text is a link to the fucking article on her and Patty, and she’s gone and captioned it,  _ sounds like you two are getting along :) whatever happened last night i hope it went well, ur my fave always babe, xoxoxo,  _ all cute and Lawson-like. 

And that just— 

Travis doesn’t let herself think about the weird way that breaks her heart, just decides to call Lawson instead, because Lawson likes surprise FaceTime calls, and Travis misses her face. 

“Hey,” Lawson says, still in motion when she answers. “What’s going on? I thought you’d be busy.” 

“Why would I be busy?” Travis says, watching as Lawson flops onto her bed, hair falling in her eyes in a way that is still incredibly cute despite the poor image quality. 

“I dunno,” Lawson says, shrugging. “I figured— after last night, you and—” 

“Oh, no, that didn’t— don’t worry about that,” Travis says quickly. “That’s not gonna be a thing, or whatever.” 

Lawson frowns. “What?” 

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Travis says. “It’s not— we’re not really good like that, don’t think.”

“Wait, what happened?” Lawson says. 

“I…” Travis bites her lip. “I don’t really want to talk about it? But I’m okay, I promise.” She smiles, too-big and very exaggerated. “See?” 

“Oh my god,” Lawson says, laughing a little breathlessly, and Travis can feel it right in the center of her chest. “You look so uncomfortable.” 

“Hey,” Travis says, letting her face return to normal. 

“You know, you have a nice smile when you don’t make it look all weird,” Lawson says. 

“It’s more of a smirk,” Travis says, shrugging.

“Well, it’s a nice smirk,” Lawson says. “Or at least, I like it.”

“That’s all I care about, I guess,” Travis says, and she very much wishes she was joking, but unfortunately, she’s not. 

Travis has thought a lot about Lawson, is the thing. 

“Aw, babe,” Lawson says. “You’re such a sap.” 

“No I’m not, shut up,” Travis says, grinning embarrassingly wide. 

“You’re so soft,” Lawson says. “I don’t care what anyone else says, I know the truth.”

“If I’m soft, you’re a teddy bear.”

“I’m not denying it,” Lawson says, probably because she can’t. No number of on-ice fights can replace the fact that, off the ice, Lawson is pretty much a snuggly sunflower around Travis. 

“You know, you’re my favorite,” Travis says, which is maybe uncharacteristically sappy, but they tend to be when they’ve gone long stretches without seeing each other. 

“Aw,” Lawson says. “You love me.” 

Travis’ stomach does something beautiful and terrible and complicated at that, and suddenly, Lawson’s soft smile is too bright for her to handle. “The most,” she says, and it’s hard for her to not break down as she says it, but she pulls it off, anyway. 

The thing is, Travis and Lawson have always been the same, despite misaligned schedules and bouncing between teams and leagues over the years, and Travis knows that nothing is gonna change that, not even Travis being gay. Travis and Lawson will always be Travis and Lawson, best friends since forever, for forever. 

It’s just— for the first time, that thought makes Travis a little sad. 

…… 

Here’s the thing about Lawson Crouse: Travis doesn’t deserve her. 

That’s not even Travis being self-deprecating; it’s just true. Lawson is really fucking nice, and Travis is, like, kind of a dick. She’s moody and vague and pushes the boundaries of kindness when she’s poking fun, and she goes from distant to needy in the blink of an eye. 

She’s trying to be better about that stuff, but still, she knows she can be kind of hard to be friends with, which makes the fact that she’s so close with Law even stranger, because Lawson is the most likable person on the face of the planet. Her smile is literally made of sunshine, and Travis isn’t just saying that as a lesbian or as Lawson’s best friend. It’s just an objective truth. People like Lawson because Lawson is sweet and funny, and Lawson likes people back because Lawson just likes things by default, but she likes Travis most of all, even though she’s seen the worst sides of her. 

And maybe Travis is overstating things there, because it’s not like she’s never nice, and it’s not like Lawson’s never an asshole. The first time they met, Travis had been the friendlier one between the two of them, and Lawson had been the grouchy girl telling her to ‘mind her own beeswax,’ but they’d been kids then. Now that they’ve more or less grown up together, give or take a few hundred miles, they’ve got the kind of friendship that’s been around for so long that no one can even remember why it started, what made them click immediately and last indefinitely. It’s a friendship without rhyme or reason— they are the way they are because they’ve always been this way, and they’ve fine tuned it over the years to work perfectly. It’s like a yin/yang symbol, except instead of smooth arcs that interlock, it’s a jagged boundary— not quite as easy a fit, at first glance, but perfectly matched up nonetheless.

It’s a tough kind of thing to balance, but Travis cares a whole fucking lot about Law, so it’s never really felt like hard work before. She’s got a pretty strong possessive streak, especially when it comes to Lawson, and it’s not like she  _ has  _ to be the single most important person in Lawson’s life, but if the position is open, Travis is happy to assume it. 

Which is fine, except now, Travis is… 

Well. 

She’s starting to wonder what exactly it means, to have a best friend who’s always been a little more than a best friend. 

…… 

TK switches her Tinder settings the next day. 

She does it without fanfare, right before morning skate, and she swipes right frantically as she walks into the rink, in some weird almost-attempt at being as conspicuously gay as possible. Really, yesterday’s Andrea-based breakdown probably should’ve given her away, but the article about her and Nolan had distracted everyone from that, apparently. 

Actually, it’s still distracting them. Travis can’t even blame them, really; up until yesterday, she’d had some vague idea that she and Nolan were going to date because that was what you did, when you were a boy and a girl and best friends. She’d played along with all their jokes, batted her eyelashes and giggled when Nolan blushed. Looking back, she’s pretty sure Nolan had never had quite the same expectation, but he may very well have just been deflecting because their teammates were there. 

So the distraction makes sense, but that doesn’t exactly mean it’s fun to spend all morning hearing her teammates coo about how cute her and Nolan are as a pair, even if they’re only kidding. 

What’s most annoying about it is that she can’t even talk to Nolan, because she knows it’ll only feed the rumors, but he’s the only person who knows about the whole gay thing, and it’s not like she wants to have a conversation with him about it, but she feels safer when he’s there, especially when the team is making her feel— 

It’s not even that they’re making her feel bad. They’re just not seeing her, and it looks like they won’t start seeing her until she goes to the effort of making herself super visible. She sort of wants to leave her phone open with Tinder open, or even make her phone background a rainbow flag, or something, but the picture she has of her and Lawson wearing each other’s clothes—Travis’ flannel just barely buttoned over Lawson’s chest, Law’s cardigan looking like it’s about to consume Travis—is pretty cute, and also, she’s weirdly scared to take that step. 

She wants everyone to know, but she also doesn’t feel ready to just let it out, so she mostly just keeps her head down as she laces up her skates, letting Weiser give her shit and trying to let it roll off her back. 

“Hey, leave her alone,” she hears Claude say, and Travis is overwhelmed with gratitude for a second, until she adds, “The kids will figure it out on their own time.” 

Then, Claude winks, and Travis— 

She feels something like betrayed, for a reason she can’t quite piece together, because it’s not like Claude said anything more annoying than anyone else, or has any special gaydar just because she’s spending the rest of her life with another woman. Travis gets that she can’t expect people to figure out she’s having a big gay crisis just by looking at her, even if the person looking at her is also pretty gay, but it would be really nice for someone to notice— she doesn’t even know. Something. Anything. Whether it’s that she’s been quieter this morning, or that she isn’t laughing along like she usually would, or that she’s clearly going through some shit that has her buried in her phone all morning. 

She knows she’s moody, but there’s no way this is caliber of crisis is somehow on par with PMS or a rough loss. Claude is her captain, and she’s intuitive, and good at reading people, and she’s also fucking gay, and Travis had apparently had some subconscious hope that Claude would recognize something familiar in her face. 

Travis wants to roll her eyes at Claude, but she can’t, just stares at her with an uncomfortably sad expression on her face, and slowly, Claude’s smile fades. 

Suddenly, Travis feels  _ too  _ seen, and the things she wanted half a second ago are now happening, and they’re very scary. 

“Stop distracting everyone with your gossip, Weise,” Claude says, tearing her eyes away from Travis, and it’s a rare moment where Travis feels genuinely speechless. She doesn’t really do feelings all that often, and she’s just experienced a lot of them in a very short period of time, which means she’s still got a lot to process. “We have a game tonight.” 

“Alright,” Weise says, some combination of annoyed and surprised. “Uh, sorry?”

Claude shrugs, like the outburst hadn’t been wildly out of left field, and makes meaningful eye contact with Travis that she’s pretty sure means something like,  _ we’ll talk about this later.  _

Travis doesn’t want to think about that, so she opens Tinder again and swipes right on a few more girls in an invisible gesture of passive aggression. 

As she’s about to put it down, a snap comes in from Lawson, which turns out to be a picture of Stromer and Merks asleep on the bus, Dylan’s head resting on Nick’s chest as his legs sprawl out into the aisle ungracefully. Lawson’s gone to the effort of drawing mustaches on the picture, and captioned it with a single smiley face. 

Quickly, Travis takes a selfie of her neck and shoulders, because she can’t be bothered to make a nice photo face, then captions it,  _ id give u actual money to draw on their actual faces. _

A few seconds later, Lawson sends back a picture of a black pen—eyeliner, Travis realizes—pressed to her lips like she’s making a ‘shush’ noise.  _ lets fuckin go, challenge accepted.  _

Travis has to finish getting ready before she can send a followup, but right before she heads out onto the ice, she checks her phone quickly. Lawson’s sent her a selfie, and Travis can see that Lawson actually did draw on them, even did a fancy swirl at the ends, though one of Dylan’s is a little smudged. Travis is impressed, and also delighted, both by the high-quality face graffiti and the fact that Lawson’s smiling in the picture, big and dumb and clearly very proud of herself. 

Travis doesn’t even think before taking a screenshot, doesn’t even realize how wide she’s grinning until Claude gives her another curious look, and Travis puts all thoughts of girls out of her mind as she makes her way out of the locker room. 

…… 

Claude tries to get Travis to grab lunch with her, but Travis gets out of it by claiming gameday rituals, or something, which is a pretty flimsy excuse, but whatever. It’s been a pretty loaded few days, and Travis doesn’t think she can handle coming out to her captain then playing NHL hockey a few hours later. That’s too much adrenaline for her to handle. 

As it turns out, Travis’ first NHL game as a lesbian goes really well. She’s on top of her game, racking up two goals and earning second star, and she knows it’s probably a combination of luck and a desire to focus on anything that’s not all the feelings bouncing around in her head that makes it happen, but it’s a nice way to kick off the gay chapter of her hockey career nonetheless. 

She fully intends to celebrate afterward, because getting drunk will help her continue the streak of not thinking about things. Or maybe it won’t, but at least it will help her focus on the things that she actually wants to think about, like the fact that she’s gay, and that every time she thinks it or says it, she feels like her heart is soaring. 

“I’ll give you a lift to the bar,” Claude says, and Travis’ almost-good mood is immediately tainted by reality. Not totally ruined, but dulled, a little, because a conversation with Claude involves talking about things that Travis really doesn’t want to talk about. 

It’s not even the worst thing in the world, honestly; Travis knows some gay people go through hell, and if the worst thing she’s had to do as a lesbian is talk to another lesbian about being a lesbian, she’s probably the luckiest lesbian on the face of the planet. 

As she climbs into Claude’s car, she decides that it won’t actually be that bad, having this conversation. Claude’s cool, and Travis really is excited about the whole gay thing, and it’ll probably be good to have someone else know besides Nolan. 

“So,” Claude says carefully, and Travis braces herself. “When we give you and Patty shit— you know we don’t mean anything by it, right?” 

“I know,” Travis says, mentally retracting her former belief that this isn’t the worst thing in the world and silently wishing she could curl up into a ball right now. 

“We can stop if it makes you uncomfortable,” Claude says. 

“It’s not that it makes me uncomfortable,” Travis says, her face burning. “It’s just— we’re not like that, you know? I don’t want it to be a whole thing every time I just, like, wanna have a conversation with my buddy.”

“That’s fair,” Claude says, and then there’s a stretch of silence, and Travis realizes that Claude’s not gonna push any further. 

She takes a breath. “I have this other friend,” she says. “And we’ve been close for forever, but no one’s ever made jokes about us dating, or getting married, or anything. It’s just— we’re best friends. Even when we get crap, it’s not, like, a romance thing.” 

“Alright,” Claude says evenly. 

“And— I know some of the guys on the team think Nol and I are actually a thing,” Travis says. “Or that we’re going to be. Like, why bother making fun otherwise, right?” 

“I think it’s mostly because it’s an easy way to get a rise out of you two,” Claude says. “You didn’t seem to mind that much.” 

“Well, I don’t, but— why is it that I can’t just be friends with a guy without someone assuming shit like that? No one ever asks me if Law’s my girlfriend, and she’s— I don’t know.” Travis sighs, frustrated. “I don’t know. It’s just… weird timing, I guess.” 

“That’s fair,” Claude says. “Did you want people to assume you had a girlfriend?” 

“No, just— it doesn’t seem fair that all a guy and a girl need to do is stand next to each other and someone starts planning the fucking wedding, but two girls can just be lovey-dovey forever and that’s just, what, female friendship?” She doesn’t even know what she’s saying anymore, or why she brought Law into this, and she feels the promise of a nice simple evening slipping away.

“People ask if Ryanne and I are roommates a lot,” Claude says, laughing a little, but Travis doesn’t think there’s anything fucking funny about any of this, if she’s being honest. 

“Jesus christ, is there any way to just— do people not just use their eyes and common sense, or just fucking guess?” Travis says. “Can no one spot a lesbian these days?” 

“I guess people don’t like to assume,” Claude says. 

“But  _ why?”  _

“I don’t—” 

“Does everyone assume that we have this shit worked out already?” Travis says, and she’s on a roll, only vaguely aware that she just kind of came out officially for the second time ever. “How did no one ever suggest, at any point, that I might benefit from considering the possibility that I might be a huge fucking lesbian?”

Claude is silent, and Travis is focusing on catching her breath, because if she thinks about that, she doesn’t have to think about the shitstorm of pent-up emotion and frustration and anger she just unleashed on Claude out of fucking nowhere. 

“I don’t know where that came from,” Travis says, staring at her hands. “I— I don’t actually have a girlfriend.” 

“Right,” Claude says, her voice carefully steady. 

“I’d like one,” Travis says. “Uh, someday, I mean— it’s not— I was only gonna say that I’m, uh, way too gay to date Nolan, so. It’s weird when people— yeah.” 

“Yeah,” Claude echoes. “I’m… sorry?” 

“What for?” 

“I don’t know,” Claude says. “I, uh— welcome to the club, I guess.” 

“Thanks,” Travis says. 

“Congratulations,” Claude says. “Women are really excellent.” 

“Yeah, I know, that’s sort of why I’m… y’know.” She does an awkward nodding sort of thing. “A lesbian, or whatever.” 

“That’ll do it,” Claude says. 

And it’s weird, because this is maybe the most uncomfortable conversation Travis has ever had, but she also has this bizarre urge to smile really wide. 

“I sort of figured it out a few days ago,” she says, and it’s suddenly easy to get the words out. “Nolan knows, but no one else does.”

“The first person you came out to was Nolan Patrick?” Claude says. 

“Yeah.”

“Wow,” Claude says. “That’s  _ adorable.”  _

Travis turns a deep shade of red, but she’s grinning as she does. “Shut up.” 

“Never,” Claude says, but the rest of the car ride passes in content silence, and Travis thinks about how, even though that wasn’t exactly easy, it was very, very worth it. 

…… 

Travis makes a beeline for Nolan the second she sets foot in the bar, because they haven’t had a real conversation all day, and he really is one of her favorite people in the world.

“Shots,” she says, in lieu of hello, and Nolan looks a normal level of bemused.

“Why?” he asks.

She waves a hand. “Shots first,” she says. “I’ll explain later. You’re buying, by the way.”

“Wh—”

“If you don’t buy me drinks, you’re literally a homophobe,” Travis says. “I’m a lesbian now, this is how things go.”

“That’s not how homophobia works,” Nolan grumbles, but he goes to the bar and gets them two shots apiece anyway, only glaring at Travis a little as he carefully sets them down on the table. 

Travis suspects their teammates are watching them, but she ignores that in favor of grabbing the first shot. “Alright, Patty, bottoms up for gay rights.”

“You really just said those words in that order, didn’t you,” Nolan says, like he’s somehow surprised. 

Travis flips him off while Jack Daniels makes its way down her throat, and neither of them quite manages to avoid pulling a face. For how often Travis does shots, she doesn’t actually enjoy them all that much. “Listen, I’m coming the fuck out, okay? We’re drinking to gay shit tonight.” 

“To gay shit?” Nolan says, holding up his second shot, eyebrows raised. 

“The gayest,” Travis confirms, and then she clinks their glasses together before downing the second one. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, then waits for Nolan to finish before saying, “I told Claude.” 

“What?” Nolan says, eyes going wide in surprise. “You mean—” 

“About the gay thing, yeah,” Travis says. 

Nolan looks at her like he’s not sure what he’s supposed to do with that, but when she gives him a small smile to let him know that it’s a good thing, he just keeps staring.

“What?” she says, trying not to sound worried.

“It’s just— you’re doing this all so fast,” Nolan says.

Travis frowns, a bad feeling settling deep in her stomach. “Uh, yeah,” she says. “I’m trying to make up for lost time here.” 

“What time did you lose?” Nolan says. “Two days ago, you were kissing me—”

“Hey,” she says, looking around to make sure no one heard them. It doesn’t look like there’s anyone listening in, but she lowers her voice anyway. “What the fuck?”

“I’m just saying, up until pretty recently, you were really fucking confused.”

“And then I realized, and I stopped being confused,” Travis says. 

“That fast?” Nolan sounds dubious, and Travis is angry and scared in the worst possible way. 

“Yes, that fast,” she says. “What the fuck, man? I thought you were cool with this.” Two seconds ago, they were toasting to the fact that Travis was gay; she feels blindsided by this whole thing, terrified that she’s gonna end up losing a great friendship over this. 

“I am cool,” he says, but Travis doesn’t believe him, even though she wants to. “I just— I don’t know how you’re already this sure.”

It takes Travis a second to respond, because her first reaction is plain shock, right before the anger sets in. 

“Uh, wow,” she says, trying not to let her hands shake. “So, fuck you, I guess.”

“I didn’t mean it like—”

“No, I get it,” she says. “If you can’t comprehend that I’m really never gonna want to fuck a dude ever again, how could I, right?”

“Travis, that’s—”

“I figured you’d trust me to know what I’m talking about here, but I’ve seen the error of my ways,” she says. “21 years of trying to like dick just wasn’t enough. I should give it more time.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Nolan says. “You told me you weren’t ready to tell Claude.”

“Well, I got ready,” Travis says. 

“I just want to make sure— like, when you come out, there are… expectations, y’know? I just don’t want you to do stuff before you have it all figured out.” 

“So what, I just keep it to myself until you think I’m ready to come out?” she says. “You don’t get to have an opinion on this, Nol.”

“I’m not saying you have to listen,” he says.

“Good, because I’m not,” she says. “And don’t fucking tell me about expectations, alright, I’m plenty aware that there’s shit to be scared of.”

“It’s not about being scared,” Nolan says.

“Oh my god, can you just shut the fuck up?” she says, wiping a hand over her face as she stands up, because she’s way past the point of being able to handle this conversation. “You’re supposed to be happy for me, asshole.”

“I am,” Nolan says. “I’m just also—”

“Stop talking,” she orders, and Nolan at lease has the sense to shut up quickly at that. “Don’t talk to me for the rest of the night, okay?”

“Teeks—”

“Don’t,” she says, and her voice is starting to get shaky, so she turns around and leaves Nolan alone at the table, managing to blink back any tears that threaten to fall.

She almost leaves for the night right then and there, but she ends up bumping into Ivan, and sticks to her for the rest of the night. Apparently, everyone’s gotten the memo that TK and Patty jokes are off-limits for tonight, and it makes things mostly bearable. At the very least, Nolan ducks out without Travis noticing, and if she tries really hard, she can pretend like nothing’s different, nothing’s wrong, like she’s not gay now and wasn’t straight before and like she hasn’t been going through unexpected highs and awful lows for the last few days.

For the most part, it’s fine, or at least, as fine as it could be. 

……

Nolan doesn’t text her later that night, or talk to her at all the next day, and it eventually escalates into the two of them mutually ignoring each other in their shared hotel room.   

Travis isn’t even sure how this became a fight; she knows why she’s mad, but she’s got no fucking clue what Nolan’s pissed off about, and can’t shake the awful feeling that it’s just because she’s gay and wants to shout it from the rooftops. It sucks, because the fact that he apparently doesn’t approve of her telling anyone makes it hard for her to actually tell anyone, which is categorically not fair, because her coming out shouldn’t be based on the opinions of Nolan fucking Patrick, of all people. 

“I’m leaving,” Nolan says, interrupting Travis’ train of thought. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“Whatever,” she says, and she doesn’t look up, so she can’t tell if Nolan actually hesitates, or if it’s just a trick of the light she’s seeing out of the corner of her eye. 

Whatever. She doesn’t have the energy to be upset right now, so she opens her phone, finds Lawson’s contact, and sends her a message that just says,  _ I’m in your city. _

_ give it my best! _ Law texts back almost immediately, which means she’s looking at her phone. 

On a whim, Travis hits call. 

“Hey,” Lawson says, her face filling up the screen, and Travis feels warm inside for the first time in days. “What’s up?”

“Not much,” Travis says, a little mesmerized by Lawson’s hair, which is falling in long blonde strands out of a high messy bun. 

“Alright,” Lawson says, her voice confused, but gentle. “Why’d you call, then?”

Travis shrugs. “Just thinking of you, I guess.”

“Jesus,” Lawson says with a surprised sort-of laugh. “That’s the second time this week I’ve seen you have feelings.”

“I have feelings all the time,” Travis protests, blushing a little. “Rage is a feeling.”

“You know what I mean,” Lawson says. “ _ Feelings _ -feelings, y’know?”

Travis thinks that she and Lawson have a very different idea of what the phrase  _ feelings- _ feelings implies. “I don’t know,” she says, bringing her knee to her chest and holding it. “It’s been a strange few days, I guess.”

Lawson frowns at that. “Oh,” she says. “I didn’t know.”

Travis shrugs, letting her eyes focus on Lawson’s hair again. It’s doing an embarrassingly good job of making her feel better. “You know me,” she says lamely. “Great at talking about my feelings when I need to. Super proactive about that shit.”

“Do you need to talk about it?” Lawson says. 

Travis leans forward, letting her hair fall in her face. “It’s fine, just— Nol and I are fighting.”

“Oh,” Lawson says, half a second too late.

“It’s stupid,” Travis says. “I just told him something, and he was cool about it, but then he—”

“Is this about the fact that you’re not, like, together?”

Travis shakes her head quickly, trying not to actually wince at the mention of that whole situation. “God, it’s got— it’s not even anything about him, just— fuck.” She lifts her head, flipping her hair back. It’s probably a mess, but the moment of feeling majestic is worth it. “I really wish you were here, okay?”

“I wish I was there too,” Lawson says, and right now, Travis loves her so much it physically hurts, and it isn’t even the first time she’s felt that way about Lawson. She thinks back to Claude’s car, the outpouring of anger over the fact that no one had seen it, and she knows that this is what she’d been talking about. 

Travis can’t believe she ever thought she might have a thing for Nolan; she knows what it’s like to be in love with her best friend, has lived and breathed it for who knows how long. 

“This is so fucking stupid,” Travis says. “We’re rich. Can’t one of us just hop on a plane?”

“We have things to do, we can’t just leave because we want to.”

“Says who?” Travis says, already furiously googling schedules, a plan starting to form in her mind. “If you guys have some downtime, I’m already out west.”

“I’m in Texas,” Lawson says.

“Close enough,” Travis says. “You have a few days off after tomorrow. We’re playing Vegas Saturday—” her head whips up. “You could fly out and meet me there.” 

“What?” Lawson says, sounding sort of flustered. “How? When?” 

“Tomorrow night,” Travis says. “I’ll book your flight, and I’ll make sure you’re at the same hotel as us. We could do Vegas, Law.” 

Lawson just stares. “But— I can’t just go to Vegas.” 

“Just for a few days,” Travis says. “We’re pros, Law, they don’t care where you are as long as you’re on time for practice and games, right?” 

“I guess, but— I can’t, Trav.” 

“Why not,” Travis says, practically buzzing with excitement, because Vegas, and because  _ Lawson.  _ “We haven’t seen each other in ages.”

“We saw each other at Christmas.” 

“Ages,” Travis repeats, and she’s only half joking. Any amount of time without Lawson is too much time without Lawson. “Come on, we can hang out for a day, and then you’ll be on a plane back to Arizona, or San Jose, or whatever, and I’ll go back to Philly.” 

“I can’t believe you’re serious.” 

“As a heart attack, babe,” Travis says. “I’ll pay for it and everything. Please?” 

“I—” Lawson looks frozen, like she’s scared to say yes. Travis knows how to nudge her in the right direction. 

“Law,” she says, using a soft voice reserved for moments when she needs Lawson to know that something’s important. “Please?” 

It tips the scale. “Stromer’s gonna freak out at me,” she says, and Travis has to stop herself from pumping a victorious fist in the air.

“He’ll be fine,” she says. “He’s always freaking out about something.” 

“You don’t know the half of it,” Lawson says dryly. 

Travis opens up Expedia, smiling. “You can fill me in, then,” she says. “In  _ Vegas.”  _

“Stop saying it like that,” Lawson says.

“Like what?” Travis says. 

“Like,  _ Vegas,”  _ Lawson says, doing something with her hands that Travis thinks might be spirit fingers. “It’s just a meetup.” 

“It’s  _ us _ meeting up,” Travis says. “I’m allowed to say it like it’s special.” 

“I guess,” Lawson says. 

“No, you don’t guess, you  _ know,”  _ Travis says, and she feels a little bit like she’s a teenager again, planning the party of the summer and convincing Lawson to co-host. “Admit it, you miss having someone at your side to make you feel tall.” 

“I have Merks,” Lawson says. 

Travis isn’t actually jealous, but she’s not entirely putting on a show when she narrows her eyes. “You’re not giving Nick Merkley my piggy back rides, are you?” 

“They’re not  _ your _ piggyback rides, it’s my back,” Lawson says, rolling her eyes. “And no, I’m not.” 

“Good,” Travis says, smiling as she starts scrolling through flights. “This might be the best idea I’ve ever had.” 

“We’ll see,” Lawson says, in a voice that Travis knows means,  _ I’m not going to admit it because I’m secretly super stubborn, but you’re totally right.  _

She’s totally gonna get Lawson a first class ticket. 

…… 

Travis hangs up with Lawson a minute before Nolan comes back to the room, and in that minute, she manages to come to her senses about the whole Vegas plan. When Nolan walks in, she’s sitting upright on her bed, fingers on her temples, wondering what the fuck she’s just done, and can’t even process the Nolan-stress right now because she’s too consumed with all the Lawson-stress. 

“Okay, fine,” Nolan says, presumably because he’d expected Travis to say something. She’s not really sure how long he’s been here, honestly. “I’m really fucking sorry for the other day, okay? I just— I was going through some stuff, and I was freaking out about it, and I didn’t know how to bring it up, okay?” 

“Okay,” Travis says, the words not really processing in her brain. 

“I know you can just go through this shit in two days, but some people can’t, right? Sometimes it takes— I don’t know, it takes a while to work this shit out, and it just seemed so easy for you to tell people, but for some people, it’s months, and they haven’t told anyone, except for maybe one person, and they’re not even sure what they have to tell, and it’s just—” 

“Nolan,” Travis says, cutting him off. “I hear that you’re having a crisis, and I’m just gonna say that I’m also having a crisis, so I feel like this would be a lot easier if we both calmed down enough so that we can have our crisises together.” 

“What do you mean?” Nolan asks. 

Travis looks up, sees Nolan shifting awkwardly from foot to foot, and says, “Do you wanna cut my hair?”

Nolan stares at her for a beat, then says, “I think I have a boyfriend.” 

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Travis says. 

“I know,” Nolan says. “I’m probably really bad at cutting hair.”

“Won’t know until you try,” Travis says. 

Nolan seems to think about that for a second, then shrugs agreeably. 

Travis doesn’t bother asking if it’s cool if she’s naked; they’re teammates, and it’s practical for the purposes of not getting hair on her clothes. Even before Travis was gay, it’s not like Nolan ever seemed particularly interested in looking at her, or particularly bothered by her body either. It’s nice, this specific kind of intimacy. Travis has never really had that in a friend before. 

“I made a really stupid choice before,” Travis says, messily combing her hair out with her fingers.  

“How unusual,” Nolan says. “Should your hair be wet when I cut it?” 

“Probably,” Travis says, turning the water on for a second, letting it spray Nolan a little in retaliation for the ‘unusual’ comment. 

“So,” Nolan says. “This stupid choice.” 

“Right, so, in my defense,” Travis says, tying her hair into a ponytail for Nolan to cut. “No one ever tells you that if you’re in love with someone, you shouldn’t plan a romantic trip to Vegas with them.” 

“Who are we talking about, right now?” Nolan asks. 

“Lawson Crouse,” Travis says. “You know her? Tall, dirty blonde hair, looks like the sun, total wife material?”

“She’s your phone background, so,” Nolan says. 

“Right,” Travis says. “Well, yeah, I’m seeing her tomorrow.” 

“Should be fun,” Nolan says. 

“If I don’t die from feelings overload, maybe.” 

“Believe it or not, people don’t actually die from having feelings,” Nolan says, and he starts to saw through Travis’ thick ponytail. She’s always kind of wanted short hair, but she’s never seriously considered cutting it before. At some point she’d gotten it into her head that it should at least be long enough to tie back.

“I’ll be the first,” Travis says. She always was an overachiever. “Speaking of, wanna tell me about this boyfriend of yours?”

“I mean, what’s there to say?” Nolan says. “We mess around whenever we’re in the same place, we text and call and stuff when we’re not, y’know.” 

“When did it start?” 

“Uh,” Nolan says, “Define start.” 

“So mysterious, Patrick,” Travis says. 

“Well, if you go by the first time we made out, that was— uh, June?” 

“And if you go by when you made it official,” Travis says. 

“We hung up about an hour ago,” Nolan says.

That’s 8 months of Nolan and a boy, and Travis hadn’t had any idea about it, hadn’t thought that Nolan was dating anyone, let alone dating a guy. 

“Why the delay?” Travis asks.  

Nolan’s quiet for a second, and Travis’ ponytail falls to the shower floor. 

“I wasn’t sure,” Nolan says. “About us being— like, because we were both guys, I didn’t…” His voice trails off. 

Travis runs a hand along the jagged hem of her bob. The back of her neck is exposed, she realizes, and she runs a thumb over the hairline there, which she’s never consciously considered before. 

She probably should’ve thought this through. 

“Do you want me to, like, even it out?” Nolan asks. 

Travis shakes her head. “It’s fine like this for now,” she says. “Is that why you were so mad at me for being sure?” 

“I wasn’t mad at you for being sure,” Nolan says. 

“Good,” Travis says. “Just because I was making jokes and shit, doesn’t mean it’s been easy for me to deal with all of this.” 

“I know,” Nolan says. “That’s why I apologized.” 

“And it’s stupid to compare yourself to me,” Travis says. “Like, for me, it started with me realizing I didn’t like stuff, but for you it sounds it was more like realizing you did.” 

“By ‘stuff’ you mean boys, right?” Nolan says. 

“Yeah,” Travis says. “Or, one boy, in your case.” 

“That’s a good way of putting it,” Nolan says. 

Travis picks the wad of hair up from the floor of the shower, wraps it in toilet paper, and puts it in the trash before closing the shower curtain and turning the water on again. 

“Do I ever get to know his name?” she asks, yelling to be heard over the sound of the water.

“Eventually,” Nolan says back, and it’s probably a testament to their friendship that Travis can decipher his mumbles even though the shower is running. Things between them still feel a little shaky, but that’s a promising sign, at least. 

“I won’t scare him off, I promise,” Travis says.

“I don’t believe you,” Nolan says. 

She opens the curtain to flip him off, and gets an eyeroll for her efforts.

…… 

The next night, they board the plane late after a shootout win against the Coyotes, and Travis is an exhausted ball of nerves and adrenaline as she curls up against Nolan; he’d been first star, but the celebratory feelings have calmed down, and now, all Travis can think about is the fact that, in a couple of hours, she and Lawson are going to be in the same place. 

When she’d booked the ticket, Lawson had assured her that a super late night flight would be better than an early one the next morning, but right now, Travis is fucking exhausted, and would rather be anywhere than on a plane. She can’t imagine Lawson’s faring any differently, but when Travis gets a text while they’re taxiing that lets her know Lawson’s boarding, she seems to be her usual cheerful self, full of terms of endearment and smiling emojis, and that makes Travis feel a little better.

She sleeps for the entire flight, and is still foggy and mostly asleep when she turns her phone back on and sees a picture in the team groupchat. It’s her and Nolan, wearing the same clothes they are right now, and they’re both asleep, Travis’ head resting on Nolan’s chest, Nolan’s head flopping over as he curls toward her a little. 

It’s a pretty cute picture, actually, so Travis downloads it, makes a duplicate, opens it in Snapchat, and writes ‘LESBIAN’ on the bottom in all caps before adding a million arrows pointing to her. 

_ fixed it :),  _ she says, sending the picture to the team, and belatedly realizes Nolan’s been watching her over her shoulder. 

“Nice,” he says, snorting a little before holding out his hand for a fist bump, which Travis accepts. 

The chat buzzes a few times after that, but Travis mostly ignores it, figuring Claude and Nolan can deal with any confused follow-up messages that may pop up, or, ideally, people can deal with it themselves. 

…… 

Travis can’t sleep when they get to the hotel, but she makes a valiant effort for about an hour and a half before sneaking out of the room and down into the lobby. Lawson’s plane has already landed, but she hadn’t texted Travis, probably assuming she’s been sleeping and not obsessively looking at a flight tracker on her phone. 

Her hands are stuffed in the kangaroo pocket of a Team Canada hoodie as she makes her way past the odd assortment of late night hotel lobby guests, a combination of drunk stragglers, businessmen working across timezones, and other pajama-clad insomniacs. She feels comfortably anonymous here, which is refreshing, even though it’s not like she’s particularly famous. 

There are couches in the lobby, and Travis claims one as her own, lying down on her stomach, hood up and phone in hand, and she’s prepared to wait out the twenty minutes or so before Lawson arrives with only Candy Crush for company, but the next thing she knows, her face is stuffed into a cushion, and someone’s shaking her awake. 

“TK?” Lawson’s voice says, and Travis thinks for a second that she might be dreaming, but then she turns her head, and sure enough, there’s Lawson, wearing a dress that she’s probably been wearing for far too long. Her hair is a mess, and she’s got a suitcase at her feet, and it takes Travis a second to remember that Lawson’s supposed to be here, and is, in fact, here to visit her. 

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” she says, her voice hoarse. “Sorry.” 

“Why are you down here?” Lawson asks, hovering in the space around Travis like she’s not sure if she’s supposed to be touching her or not. 

“Couldn’t sleep,” Travis says, throwing her legs over the side of the couch and making grabby hands at Lawson to help her stand. “Figured I’d be the first to welcome you to Vegas.” 

“You’re such a weirdo,” Lawson says, grabbing Travis’ hands and pulling her to her feet, and if Travis were more awake right now, she’d probably give Lawson shit for the incredibly cute way she says the word ‘weirdo’, but as it stands, all she can do is give Lawson a hug, partly because she’s pretty sure she’s gonna fall over if she doesn’t, but mostly because Lawson is  _ here,  _ and Travis wants to touch her always, but especially now. 

“Thanks for coming,” Travis says. 

“Of course,” Lawson says, her voice low and soothing. Travis has always thought that if Law weren’t a hockey player, she’d be a great elementary school teacher; she’s good with kids, and great at making people feel safe. 

“You should check in so we can go to bed,” Travis says. “Maybe it’ll work, this time.” 

“You can go up to your room,” Lawson says. 

Travis shakes her head. “Wanna go to yours,” she says. “Don’t have that much time with you.” 

“We have two days.”

“Not enough,” Travis insists.

“You’re so—” Lawson starts, but she cuts herself off. “You cut your hair?” 

“Hm?” 

“Your hair,” Lawson repeats, and then she’s pulling a little away from Travis and nudging her hood off, running a finger down the side of her face before tangling it in her hair, and Travis suddenly can’t breathe, she wants to kiss her so badly. 

“Yeah,” she manages to say, and she can only hope Lawson assumes any weirdness in her voice is because she’s still mostly asleep. “The other night.” 

“Did you cut it yourself?” 

“Nah, Patty did it for me,” Travis says.

“Oh,” Lawson says. “I thought you two were fighting.” 

“We made up.” 

“I figured,” Lawson says, and then she bites her lip. “But you still— I mean, it’s still okay that I’m here?” 

Travis frowns. “What?”

“Like, I sort of assumed you wanted me to come because you and Nolan…” her voice trails off. “You know. So you wouldn’t have to think about whatever’s going on with you two.” 

“Nothing’s going on with me and Nolan,” Travis says, frown not letting up. “And you’re not here because I needed a distraction from something else.” 

“Then why am I here?” Lawson says. She’s still got a hand resting on Travis’ cheek, gentle and warm and so nice that Travis wants to close her eyes and commit the feeling to memory.

“You’re the one who got on the plane,” Travis says, too tired to be bothered to come up with anything to say besides the truth. 

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Lawson says, sounding a little fond, but mostly confused and cautious. “Why did you invite me?” 

_ Because I’m so in love with you I don’t know what to do with myself, and I only just realized it,  _ Travis thinks. 

“You give good piggyback rides,” Travis says, matter-of-fact as she can manage. “And I have it on good authority that I’m your favorite jetpack.” 

“You didn’t fly me out to Vegas just to cuddle with no ulterior motive,” Lawson says. 

Travis sighs. “Fine, you caught me,” she says. “There’s another reason.” 

“And that is?” 

Travis looks at Lawson for a second, takes in the gameday dress, the frazzled hair, the concern written on her face and the fear hidden deep in her eyes. 

“Because I kinda miss you a whole fucking lot, asshole,” Travis says, and Lawson’s cheeks go a bit red, surprised. Travis doesn’t understand why she never seems to believe that she really does care about her this much, but she doesn’t take it personally. Lawson isn’t the center of Lawson’s world; that’s always been Travis’ thing. 

“Well, in that case, asshole,” Lawson says, her voice a little soft, “I kinda miss you a whole fucking lot, too.”

“Glad we got that settled,” Travis says. “Now check in, I wanna sleep.” 

“You have a room,” Lawson says, but she lets Travis climb onto her back and carries her to reception, not even pretending to whine about it like she usually does. 

Travis might regret this trip at some point, but right now, she’s starting to think that it wasn’t actually the worst idea in the world. 

…… 

The next morning, when Travis wakes up, there’s a moment where everything is perfect. 

She’d gone to bed late the night before, but she still manages to beat her alarm anyway, and it’s one of those mornings where she’s awake easily, like she’s right where her body wants her to be. 

There’s a warmth pressed to her front, and it takes her a second to realize it’s Lawson; instinctively, she runs her toes against the back of her calves, reveling in the way Lawson’s so fucking huge that Travis’ legs are tiny in comparison. It’s not often that Travis likes to feel small, but with Lawson, she absolutely loves it. She’s like an overly large stuffed animal of a person that Travis gets to hug, a little firmer in reality, but metaphorically, just as soft and fluffy.

But Lawson’s better, because she’s warm with sleep, and her chest moves with every exhale, and she makes these cute noises when Travis shifts around her. 

So, yeah, it’s perfect for a moment, but then Travis’ chest starts to ache, which is par for the course when she wakes up with Lawson wrapped up in her arms, except now she knows what it means, and it’s— 

It’s weird. Travis and Law have always been affectionate, but now that Travis knows she’s in love with her, it’s a whole different beast. She wants to touch Lawson in ways best friends don’t touch each other, wants to put her hands places she’s never explored before, and it makes her feel guilty, holding her this close like everything’s normal, because nothing’s normal. 

Maybe Lawson wouldn’t want to cuddle with Travis if she knew how not-normal everything was. 

It’s a train of thought Travis has to cut off quickly, because if she starts down this road, she has a feeling she’ll be knee-deep in a mess of tangled logic that she doesn’t have time to sort out, so she just tries to disentangle herself from Law as gently as she can. She’s pretty sure the last time they did this was this summer, when they’d shared a room at Travis’ family’s cottage. Both of their families had been there, including all their siblings and Travis’ grandparents, so it had been pretty stuffed, the immediate assumption being Lawson and Travis sharing a bed. In hindsight, it hadn’t made much sense, because Travis woke up early to hunt every morning and Lawson had sleepily grumbled out complaints each time, but she hadn’t actually seemed upset about it. 

Point is, Lawson and Travis are good at sharing a bed, so Travis figures that her being a lesbian shouldn’t change that, and her being in love with Lawson will only sort of change that. 

“Where’re you going,” Lawson’s muffled voice says, and she stirs a little in Travis’ arms. 

“Sorry,” Travis says. “My arm fell asleep.” 

“Why not the rest of you?” 

Travis has to bite her lip to stop herself from laughing; Lawson first thing in the morning is incredibly cute and also, pretty fucking funny. “I’ve gotta head out.” 

“Why?” Lawson mumbles.

“Breakfast, then morning skate,” Travis says. “Don’t worry, you’ll probably still be asleep by the time I get back.” 

“Bring coffee?” Lawson says, already turning over and drifting off again. 

“Duh.” 

Travis takes one last second to stare at Lawson, calm and asleep, before she throws on some clothing and makes her way out of the hotel, making sure to shut the door quietly behind her. 

No one spares her a second glance when she walks into team breakfast late, taking the seat next to Nolan after loading her plate up with crap from the hotel buffet. 

“Morning,” she says cheerfully. “Sleep well?” 

Nolan grunts, which Travis takes to mean  _ yes, but it’s early and I don’t want to talk.  _

“Man, it must be wild living somewhere this warm year round,” Travis says. “It’s February, and I don’t even need a jacket. And the sky’s, like, so blue, y’know?” 

“Why are you all chipper this morning?” Ghost says. “Who are you and what have you done with TK?” 

“Let the girl have a good morning without questioning her,” Claude says, taking the seat next to Travis and nudging her with her elbow before giving her a knowing look. 

Travis isn’t even sure if it’s being out of the closet or being in the same place as Lawson that’s making her like this, actually, but she figures it’s both. “Yeah, maybe I’m just happier now that I’m full-on gay, or whatever,” she says, the word slipping out easily. She doesn’t let herself gauge the reactions it gets; she really does deserve this good mood, wants to hang on to it while she can. “My life is all rainbow-colored now.” 

Across the table, Weise clears his throat. “So, you really are a lesbian, then?” he asks. 

“No, she was lying,” Ghost deadpans. “What a hilarious joke. She figured it would go over well in the room, considering, y’know, we find lesbians hilarious.”

“Some lesbians are hilarious,” Claude says, putting her hands under her chin and grinning like she’s in a kid’s beauty pageant, or something. 

“That’s not really what we’re talking about,” Ghost says. 

“I’m just checking,” Weise says, a little defensive. “Not trying to be offensive, or whatever, just— y’know. Making sure you were serious.”  

“Uh, yeah,” Travis says. “I’m seriously gay.” 

“She’s not kidding, you should’ve seen her when Andr— ow!” Nolan says, cut off by Travis kicking him hard under the table. 

“I don’t think they need proof, Patty,” Travis says. 

“Whatever,” Nolan says, grumpily rubbing at his shin. “She’s super gay, dudes.” 

“You heard the man, I’m super gay,” Travis says. “Plus, my friend’s in town, and I got to see her last night.” 

“Did you sneak out after curfew?” Claude says. “I feel like a proud parent.” 

“No, I didn’t sneak out,” Travis says. “She’s staying at this hotel.” 

“That’s a nice coincidence,” Claude says. 

Next to Travis, Nolan chokes on his coffee. This time, she opts to step on his foot, which earns her a pretty ineffective glare. 

“So, when you say friend—” Weise starts. 

“I mean a  _ friend,”  _ Travis says, and the conversation ends there.  

The rest of the morning is fairly standard, Travis thinks; the team is cautious around her, and a few more guys approach her to offer apologies in case they accidentally said anything homophobic in her presence. It’s not the worst thing in the world, but at the same time, it’s not exactly the kind of thing that makes her feel warm and fuzzy inside; it sort of gives her the same feeling as the first time she got a sex talk from her parents. She appreciates the concern, but actually having the conversation sort of makes her want to curl up in a ball and die while rolling her eyes the whole time. 

Not all of it is bad. Some people seem more distant, but she tells herself that’s paranoia. Ivan tells her that she’d barely even been surprised and offers her congratulations, which is sort of a shock, but also sort of nice— like, someone else saw her and thought, ‘yeah, that could be a lesbian’, before Travis even knew. 

She’s not really sure why it feels so cool, but it does, and the whole morning is, on the whole, pretty nice. 

Lawson’s awake by the time Travis gets back to the room, hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun and a paper coffee cup on the side table.

“I brought you coffee,” Travis says, handing Lawson the Starbucks cup she’s been holding. It’s got mocha crap all over the lid, because Travis is an idiot who forgot that those little cup-top-plug-things actually have a use, but it’s still warm, and also Lawson’s favorite—right down to the soy milk—so she thinks she did a pretty good job.   

“Oh, wow, thanks,” Lawson says. “I already had some, but this is super nice. I got one for you, too— I mean, just from the lobby, but. It’s coffee.” She shrugs. “It’s probably cold.” 

Travis doesn’t really mind cold coffee, and when she takes a sip, she finds that it’s practically lukewarm, which is even better than she expected. Anyway, the gesture itself is enough to make her feel warm inside, even if the coffee doesn’t.

“This is good,” Travis says. “Thanks.” 

Lawson shrugs. “It’s no big. You’re the one putting me up in a fancy Vegas hotel.” 

“That’s nothing,” Travis says, flopping down on the bed, ignoring the fact that she spills coffee all over her arm. It’s not that much, and none of it’s on her clothes or the bedding, so she doesn’t actually care. “Thanks for flying out even though I have to do gameday crap for most of it.” 

“It’s kind of your job,” Lawson says. “I don’t mind, honestly. It’s fun watching you do your thing, and anyway, I got to sleep in.”

“I wouldn’t wake you up early on your vacation,” Travis says. 

“You always wake me up early,” Lawson says.  _ “Especially _ on vacation.” 

“The cottage doesn’t count!”

“It totally counts,” Lawson says. 

“That’s not waking up early for the sake up being up, that’s because duck hunting—” 

“A thing I  _ don’t do—” _

“Okay, I don’t wanna spend this entire trip arguing,” Travis says, laughing a bit. “You got to sleep in, I got to not sleep in, we’re both happy.” 

“Yes,” Lawson says, grinning, and then she puts her head on Travis’ shoulder. “I missed you.” 

“Me too,” Travis says, idly running her hands through Lawson’s hair. “I, uh— I got you tickets for the game tonight, but you obviously don’t have to come if you don’t want.” 

Lawson frowns, lifts her head a bit. “Why wouldn’t I want to?” 

Travis doesn’t know how to say,  _ because you’re not in the NHL anymore and I still am,  _ or  _ because I don’t want you to think I’m showing off for you, even though I want you to be impressed.  _ “I mean, if you wanted a break from hockey, or whatever. Vacation, remember?” 

Lawson scoffs. “Since when are we the kinds of people who take breaks from hockey?” 

“Fair point,” Travis says, smiling a little. “I didn’t want to assume.” 

“I mean, I sort of figured I’d watch,” Lawson says. “I wanna check out the Vegas arena, anyway. I’ve heard it’s sick.” 

“Sweet,” Travis says. “Wanna borrow Flyers gear? To make sure everyone knows whose side you’re on, or whatever?” 

For some reason, Lawson flushes bright red at that. “Uh,” she says, “I actually— um, I already have something?” 

Travis raises her eyebrows. “What kind of something, Law?” 

“You’re gonna laugh at me,” Lawson says, wincing a bit, and now Travis absolutely  _ has  _ to know. 

“Please share with the class, Miss Crouse,” Travis says. “I could use a laugh.” 

Lawson looks like it causes her physical pain to to stand up and dig through her suitcase, and Travis sees a flash of red fabric before Lawson shields it from sight. “Okay, it’s kind of small, but when I tuck it in I look super cute.” 

“What is it?” Travis asks. “Is it something of mine? Please tell me it’s something of mine.” 

“It’s—” Lawson sighs, unfurls the bundle of red fabric before tugging it over her head, and Travis sees the  _ Konecny 17  _ stretched tight across her back, the painted-on numbers and letters smoothing out with the fabric.

It takes Travis a second to realize what jersey she’s wearing.  

“Don’t laugh,” Lawson says, and Travis gets why it might be funny, but right now, her mouth is too dry to laugh, or even really form words.

It just— it does something to her, seeing Lawson there in a Team Canada jersey with her name and number on the back. Travis isn’t even sure how she has it with her, or when she’d gotten it in the first place, but they share clothes kind of a lot for two people who live on opposite sides of the country and are very different sizes. A Travis-sized jersey on a Lawson-sized person not wearing pads fits more or less like a shirt, and it’s making Travis’ heart beat way too fast, suddenly, the idea of Lawson in the stands wearing this, an outfit that says  _ I’m here for hockey, but mostly I’m here for her.  _

It’s putting all sorts of thoughts in Travis’ head about those jean jackets the WAGs have started wearing and what Lawson would look like in one of those—or what Travis would look like in a Roadrunners one—and that’s too much for right now, so she gulps, tries to remember how to breathe, and opts to smile gently.  

“Why do you have this, anyway?” Travis asks, probably a beat too late. 

“Huh?” Lawson says, turning around. She looks surprised, like she doesn’t understand why Travis isn’t giving her shit for this. “Your mom gave it to me when you were at Worlds last year, I think.” 

“But why do you have it now?” Travis asks. “Weren’t you on the road?”

“Oh, um… it’s— I accidentally packed it.” 

“Accidentally?” Travis says, skeptical.

Lawson blushes. “Yeah,” she says. “In, uh, October. And then we had a strong start, so I kept— y’know. Packing it.” 

“So it’s like… a good luck charm?” Travis says slowly. 

“Something like that, yeah,” Lawson says, staring at her feet. 

Suddenly, Travis gets why Lawson was so sure she would make fun of her. It’s an incredibly cute gesture, but— yeah. Travis is never,  _ ever  _ letting her live this down. 

“Law,” Travis says, practically crowing, “that is the cheesiest thing I’ve heard in my entire  _ life.” _

“Listen, it wasn’t on purpose—” Lawson starts, but Travis cuts her off, not quite able to stop laughing.

“I’m your  _ good luck charm, _ oh my god. I’m bringing this up next time you pretend I’m annoying,” Travis says. 

“You  _ are _ annoying,” Lawson grumbles. “It’s not you that’s the good luck charm, it’s the jersey.” 

“That really doesn’t help your case.”

“Well— I’m bringing the good luck to your game tonight,” Lawson says. “You should be thanking me, not mocking me.”

“I can do both,” Travis says. 

“You’re impossible,” Lawson says. “Last time I wore this and watched one of your games, you guys won.” 

Travis pauses, laughter dying down a bit. “You watch my games?” 

Lawson shrugs, and Travis swears she’s not imagining the way she blushes a little harder at that. “I mean, yeah,” she says. “Not that often, but I check on highlights and stuff.” 

“Oh,” Travis says, stomach all butterflies again, easy laughter gone as quick as it came. “Me too.” 

“What?” 

“I mean, I read the play-by-plays and stuff, and I’ll go back and watch games if you did anything good.” 

“AHL streaming sucks,” Lawson says. “Doesn’t it cost money?” 

“I have money,” Travis says. “I have too much money, probably.” 

“You’d probably be better off donating it to charity or something.” 

“I donate plenty to charity,” Travis says. “It’s my money, and if I want to spend it on you, I can.” 

Lawson stares at her for a second, and Travis wonders, stupidly, if she’s given herself away, exposed her pathetic crush by confessing to occasionally throwing money into AHL streams. It isn’t like she was aware of her feelings when she was doing it, but looking back, it’s another item on the long list of Travis-and-Lawson things that are just past the bounds of normal friendship. 

All Travis can do is hope that Lawson is as unaware of the bounds of normal friendship as she had been, or if she’s not, she doesn’t make the leap from more-than-friends feelings to full-on feelings. 

“And you’re making fun of me for bringing your jersey with me,” Lawson says finally, and Travis realizes that she’s smiling, small and pleased and bright-eyed. 

“Thought that was about the jersey, not me,” Travis says. 

“Like you said,” Lawson says. “It can be both.”

Travis doesn’t know any way to react to that besides elbowing Lawson in the side and turning away so she can’t see the huge, stupid grin that’s spreading across her face. 

“Sorry to drag you to Vegas then abandon you for hours,” Travis says. “You’ll be on the glass for warmups though, right?” 

“Only if you toss me a puck,” Lawson says. “Try and get a goal for me, yeah?”

“I’ll do my best,” Travis promises, and she’s really running late at this point, but she can’t help but turn around and get one more glance at Lawson in her Team Canada Konecny jersey. 

For good luck, or something. 

…… 

Travis doesn’t manage a goal in the game, but the team wins 4-1 in front of one of the loudest crowds Travis has ever seen, and she gets on the scoresheet with an assist, which feels pretty nice. 

What’s nicer is the fact that Lawson watches the whole thing, and nicer still is Lawson meeting her after the game, a huge smile on her face. 

“I always forget how fun it is to watch you play live,” Lawson says, pulling Tavis in for a hug. “How did you manage to get even faster?” 

“You see, when a girl loves a sport very much,” Travis says, but she doesn’t bother finishing the sentence, a little too happy about the win to not laugh when Lawson does.

“God, I love your game,” Lawson says, and Travis thinks,  _ I love you.  _

“Yeah, well, you came on a good night,” Travis says. “Guess the jersey worked.” The guys had given her pointed looks after warmups, but it’s not like people don’t know who Lawson Crouse is. At the very least, they know her as the girl who ate a worm because Connor McDavid dared her to, and it’s hard enough for people to see friends on other teams during the season that no one looked too much into the fact that Lawson had flown out to Vegas. People don’t really think about relative distances between places that far from where they are; to Travis, the entire American southwest could feasibly be a series of cities that are no more than an hour’s travel by plane. 

Arizona to Vegas—or even Texas to Vegas—doesn’t sound like enough of a deal, or if it does, there’s a very large chance that they’re assuming Travis just flew her out here so she could come out to her in person. Which isn’t— 

Travis hasn’t actually decided whether or not she’s gonna come out to her on this trip, even though she’s got a feeling it’ll happen eventually. The team already knows not to mention the whole thing about Travis being gay in front of anyone else, which extends to Lawson, but Travis isn’t gonna be able to keep this to herself for a while. 

“Um,” Lawson says. “I know you’re staying an extra day, but I don’t know if the rest of your team is flying back tonight, or—”

“Tomorrow morning, for them,” Travis says. 

“So they’re probably going out tonight,” Lawson says, and Travis realizes what she’s asking. 

“Yeah, I think so,” Travis says. “Claude’s got some place she said she’d take us out to if we won.” 

“Cool,” Lawson says. “I can—” 

“You’re obviously welcome to join us,” Travis says, even though she hasn’t asked yet. “I mean, my teammates are annoying, but— y’know. They’re my team.”

“I don’t wanna intrude,” Lawson says. 

Travis resists the urge to roll her eyes; Lawson’s always been like this, and over the years, Travis has worked out the right thing to say when she gets too self-conscious. “You’re not intruding,” Travis says. “You’re with me. Claude will probably love that you’re there, actually, she always gets annoyed that there are too many men. She keeps asking me about my ‘worm girl’ anyway.” 

“You told her?” 

“About the worm? Yeah,” Travis says. She can’t remember the last time she introduced anyone to Lawson without pulling up the worm video. She’s probably seen it well over three dozen times, and it still makes her laugh. 

“I meant that I’m here,” Lawson says. “You told them you invited a friend?” 

“You’re not just a friend,” Travis says, before she can stop herself. “You’re a best friend, and anyway, Provy already knows you, and you were wearing my jersey and stuff.” 

“Could’ve been a puck bunny,” Lawson says. 

“Or a top prospect at a very recent draft,” Travis says. “Also, why would I keep it a secret?” 

“I don’t know,” Lawson says, her ears turning pink. “I just… thought you would.” 

“Well, I didn’t,” Travis says. “And I want you to meet the team, if that’s okay.” 

Lawson stares for a beat, her face kind of imperceptible, but then she nods. “I wanna meet them, yeah,” she says. “Sure you won’t get fined?” 

Claude seems to be under the impression that Travis should get a fine waiver for the next week on the basis of being gay alone, but Voracek doesn’t seem super keen on the idea, so they’ve been fighting about it for the last few days. If it is a fine, Travis is happy to pay it. 

“Didn’t we already say I can spend my money where I want?” Travis says, which makes Lawson blush super hard, and effectively stops her from arguing that she has any reason to feel unwelcome joining the team. 

“You need a financial advisor,” Lawson says. 

“I need a lot of advisors,” Travis says cheerfully. “Anyway, if you want to join us, I’ll buy your drinks.”

“You really want me to come that badly?” Lawson asks. 

Travis shrugs. “I mean, you wore the lucky jersey. It’s your win too, right?” 

“It’s not—” Lawson seems to decide that it’s not a point worth arguing, and shakes her head. “Alright, sure, I’ll come.” 

“Awesome,” Travis says, grinning and feeling a little bit like she just won the lottery. 

…… 

The team, it turns out, is so excited to have the chance to give Travis shit in front of her best friend that they gladly waive all fines, which, in hindsight, should’ve been a warning sign.

“So, Lawson,” Claude says, as soon as the first round of drinks has been distributed, “I’m gonna cut to the chase and ask you for every embarrassing story about young Travis here that you can think of.” 

“Stop,” Travis groans. There’s a chance this might be the worst idea she’s ever had, which is saying something, considering she sang Miley Cyrus on camera two days ago. 

“Uh,” Lawson says, looking conflicted. “I… can’t think of anything off the top of my head?”

“You don’t have to play coy,” Claude says. 

“I’m serious,” Lawson says. “I’m bad at thinking of these things off the top of my head.” 

“How about anything you think we don’t know already?” Claude says. 

“You don’t have to answer her,” Travis says. “Claude, stop bothering my friends.”

“Absolutely not,” Claude says cheerfully. 

Lawson looks thoughtful for a second. “Well— you guys already know she hunts, right?” 

“Oh, yes,” Ghost says, rolling his eyes. “We’ve seen the pictures. That’s not news.” 

“Well, um, when she was 5, she ripped the heads off all her Barbie dolls?” Lawson offers. 

“I think I already knew that,” Nolan says from across the table. “Like, no one told me or anything. I just knew it, in my heart.” 

“She was a pretty predictable kid,” Lawson says.

“How did you even know about that?” Travis says. “It was before I met you.” 

“Your mom brings it up a lot,” Lawson says. 

“Why do you talk to my mom?” 

“Because your mom is great,” Lawson says. “Plus, she keeps trying to convince me to give duck hunting a chance.” 

“Because you should,” Travis says. 

“I fish,” Lawson says. “You love fishing, I love fishing, the two of us can fish together. Isn’t that enough?” 

“Just give it a ch—”

“I’ve literally had this conversation with everyone in your family, it’s not gonna happen,” Lawson says. 

“Aw,” Claude says. “Fighting with the family, that’s adorable.” 

Travis freezes, and she sees Nolan elbow Claude in the side, but judging by the confused look on her face, Travis would guess she hadn’t meant anything by it. Lawson seems to think it’s a perfectly normal comment, too. 

“We’ve known each other since we were kids, so our families know each other pretty well,” Lawson says. “Our parents used to coach us together.” 

“How’d you meet?” Claude asks. 

“Mind your own beeswax,” Travis says, before Lawson has a chance to answer, and it sends Lawson into a fit of giggles that will probably sustain Travis emotionally for years to come. 

“I don’t get it,” Ghost says, though he’s clearly fighting off a smile. Claude, for her part, looks amused, if not also a little bemused.

“That’s what she said the first time they met,” Nolan says. “Teeks asked why she wasn’t playing, and Crouse told her to mind her own business.”

“Beeswax,” Travis corrects. “The word ‘beeswax’ is a really important part of this story.”

“I had a good vocabulary when I was 8!” Lawson says. “And I thought you were making fun of me!” 

“Dude, 8-year-old Teeks was this shy, tiny kid—” 

“Shy?” Nolan says, snorting a bit. “You?”

Travis is about to laugh it off, but Lawson beats her to it. “I mean, she actually was, when she was 8.” There’s an edge to her voice, and Travis realizes that it’s defensiveness. 

Nolan seems kind of taken aback. “I’m sure,” he says. “It’s just funny how things change, is all.” 

“Now she’s a chatty gal, and we wouldn’t trade her for the world,” Claude adds, and Travis throws a french fry at her and pretends to be annoyed. 

Apart from that one snag, and Claude’s ongoing mission to goad Lawson into producing embarrassing childhood anecdotes about Travis out of thin air, the evening goes pretty well. Of course the team likes Lawson, because everyone likes Lawson, and Lawson seems to like the team right back. Travis feels a little bit like she’s hovering when she keeps checking in on Lawson to make sure she’s not uncomfortable, or whatever, and it’s pretty clear Lawson doesn’t actually need her to, but she doesn’t give Travis shit for it.  

It feels good, and almost validating, to see Lawson slot so easily into yet another part of Travis’ life, and that’s almost the best thing in the world, except for how Lawson feels like a girlfriend that Travis is introducing to the team for the first time, because that’s how it goes. The people you introduce to your teammates aren’t just your super close pals, they’re family and serious boyfriends and girlfriends. 

It’s not awful, just— one of those moments where Travis feels painfully close to having everything she could ever want, but knows she won’t ever get that, because Lawson’s never shown any indication that she wants more from Travis than what they already have. 

But tonight is happy, so Travis isn’t gonna let herself worry about that—or about anything—so instead of letting herself get angry and sad and weird and guilty, she just takes a breath and smiles as Lawson charms everyone in sight.   

They go back to the hotel relatively early, because not even the allure of Vegas can make it worth being hungover on a morning flight for the rest of the team. They’re all beat anyway, because most of them played a whole hockey game today, and even Lawson’s eyes are starting to drift shut when it’s just barely past midnight.

“Sorry we didn’t really get to do a night out on the town,” Travis says in the cab, Lawson’s head resting on her shoulder. Travis is pretty sleepy too, but she’ll stay upright as long as Lawson needs a pillow. 

“Sokay,” Lawson says. “Wasn’t expecting to, anyway.” 

“Still,” Travis says. “I have stuff planned for tomorrow.” 

“In the morning?” Lawson mutters.

Travis is too tired to hide her smile. “Nah, later. I looked up the best way to see the sunset.”

“I love sunsets,” Lawson says through a yawn, readjusting on Travis’ shoulder. 

“I know,” Travis laughs. “That’s why I looked it up.” 

“You’re the greatest,” Lawson says, easy and almost sing-song, and it makes Travis’ heart hurt, but only a little. 

“I try,” Travis says, and the rest of the cab ride is spent in easy, tired silence, Lawson softly snoring into Travis’ chest as Travis tries not to be lulled into sleep by the sound. 

…… 

Travis isn’t really a fan of sleeping in, but Lawson very much is, so Travis forces herself to go back to bed for a few extra hours, tells herself she might as well get too many hours of sleep today. She’s foggy and just past the point of being well-rested when she wakes up for the second time, but she refuses to let herself be grumpy today, because she only has one day with Lawson before they see each other next, which will be in god knows how long. 

“Hey,” Travis says, kicking at Lawson’s leg. “Wake up, I’m hungry.” 

“Eat me,” Lawson says sleepily, then puts a pillow over her head. 

“I want pancakes,” Travis says. “And coffee. Don’t you want pancakes and coffee?” 

“Sleep,” Lawson says. 

“Coffee,” Travis counters, and pulls the pillow off of Lawson’s head. “Come on, it’s 10, you don’t wanna sleep through the whole day, do you?”

Lawson blinks open her eyes. “It’s 10?” 

“Yep,” Travis says, showing Lawson her phone to prove it. 

“Oh,” Lawson says. “Thought it was earlier.” 

“Why?” 

“Because you’re incapable of sleeping past 8,” Lawson says. “It’s inhuman.”

“Well, I figured we could use the sleep,” Travis says. “But now we could use some food instead, so let’s get that. Preferably as soon as possible.” 

“Okay, okay,” Lawson says, throwing the covers off. “Give me a second to get ready.” 

“You’re not allowed to spend 80 years on makeup while I’m dying of a caffeine headache,” Travis yells as Lawson makes her way into the bathroom. “We don’t have time for you to be beautiful.” 

“Fuck you, I’m always beautiful,” Lawson calls back, and Travis isn’t even horrified when her first instinct is  _ yeah, you are.  _

She’s in way too deep on this Lawson thing, but she’s pretty content to deal with it by not dealing with it, especially since she really does need coffee. 

Breakfast is pretty good; Travis looks up places that do brunch every day of the week, and finds a place that charges way too much for coffee, but that’s to be expected in Vegas. It’s not like Travis is short on cash, anyway, and it’s not like she has all that much to spend it on during the season. 

“I like your dress,” Travis says, after the waiter has brought them each what promises to be the first of many cups of coffee. “I don’t think I’ve seen that one before.” It’s a very Lawson dress, in Travis’ opinion, covered with bright yellow sunflowers, the soft fabric hem landing at her knee. Lawson wears a lot of dresses, and Travis has never really been into clothing and stuff, but she’s always liked Lawson’s sense of style. It’s soft and bright and comfortable, and even if Travis can’t ever imagine feeling like herself in something like that—she’d been a tomboy as a kid, and probably won’t ever grow out of it—she thinks it looks nice on Lawson. 

“Thanks,” Lawson says, perking up a bit. “It has pockets!” 

“Yo,” Travis says, holding out her hand for a fist bump, which Lawson returns, looking pleased with herself. 

“I always feel weird going shopping during the season, but I saw it online and sort of just— loved it.” She shrugs. “It’s not really nice enough for game days, so I haven’t really gotten to wear it much.” 

“Why not on off days?” 

“I don’t know,” she says. “It’s all bright and yellow and… flowery. The guys would give me shit.” 

“Do you really think Stromer and Merks care about what you wear?” 

She shrugs. “Probably not, but— I dunno. I feel weird being girly when I’m not really hanging out with my girl friends, I guess.” 

“Oh,” Travis says, not sure how to react to that, because it’s honestly not something she’s thought all that much about. Lawson’s always been a pretty girly person, but Travis figures there’s a difference between the subtle kind of girly—like wearing makeup or doing your hair nicely, shit that guys don’t notice—and showing up in a soft, flower-covered dress. 

“I’m probably just being weird,” Lawson says, taking another sip of her coffee. “It’s an awesome dress, and— y’know. Pockets.” 

“Pockets,” Travis agrees. “Well, you look super pretty, so.”

“Thanks,” Lawson says, and Travis wonders what it means that Lawson doesn’t have anyone she wants to look pretty for in Arizona, but mostly she’s kind of sad on Lawson’s behalf. 

Travis wonders what Lawson does when she wants to dress to look nice for someone, what she wears if not flowy dresses. She’s seen Lawson argue with her mom about whether shorts are too short or shirts are too low-cut, but Lawson’s never really been into the kind of tight dresses that girls wear when they’re trying to look sexy, or whatever. Not that she wouldn’t look good if she wore one, but Travis is pretty sure that’s just not really Lawson. 

“So, uh, how’d you like the guys?” Travis asks. “Or, the team. You know what I mean.” 

“They were cool,” Lawson says. “It was fun, getting a chance to meet them.” 

“I think they liked you,” Travis says. “I mean, G likes any girl who plays hockey, and also just most people and dogs, and she’s the captain, so.” 

“Good,” Lawson says. “Are, uh— are things good, with you and Patrick?” 

“Nol?” Travis says. “Yeah, I told you they were.” 

“Just wondering, because…” Lawson shrugs, and Travis thinks back to the way she’d snapped a bit at him last night, almost protective. 

Travis really doesn’t want to explain everything right now, not over brunch, not when they have a whole day left together, not when things feel so nice, so normal. 

“Don’t worry about that,” Travis says. “I wasn’t kidding when I said there were no hard feelings, alright?” 

“But you liked him for a while, and— I know it can be shitty to be turned down, but it’s not dumb if you’re upset about it.”

“That’s not what happened,” Travis says. “He didn’t turn me down, and I’m not upset about it, for real.” 

“Then why were you guys fighting the other day?” 

Travis purses her lips. “It was a misunderstanding, okay?”

“You seemed really into him,” Lawson says. 

That had also been a misunderstanding, but Travis can’t really use that as an explanation. “Can we just— not talk about this for today? It’s not a big deal.”

“Are you ever gonna tell me?” Lawson says, and she looks so earnestly concerned that it makes Travis’ chest feel kind of tight.

“Later,” Travis says. “But it’s really not what you think, okay?”

“I’m not thinking anything,” Lawson says. 

“You think I made a move, and he said no, and now I’m acting all tough about it,” Travis says. “Which is not what’s happening.” 

That seems to mollify Lawson a little. “Okay, fine,” she says. “You can tell me later, after whatever you’ve got planned for the day.” 

“Maybe if I’m lucky, my plan will be so awesome you’ll forget to bug me about it,” Travis says, and that’s not gonna happen, but Travis doesn’t think she can go on with her day if she knows the conversation happening at the end of it is unavoidable. 

Before Lawson can protest that, their food comes, and the conversation is, at least for the time being, put on hold.

…… 

Travis’ plans are really more of a plan, singular, so they mostly fuck around, walking down the strip and pointing out things that they think might’ve been in  _ The Hangover  _ and stop and sit on benches and talk for long periods of time. It’s maybe not the most glamorous way to experience Vegas, but it’s not like either of them really cares. Travis found one really great tourist attraction for them to visit before they go to the airport and return to their respective teams, and she figures that should be enough. 

It’s a day of moments, really— small things, like the light catching Lawson’s face in a way that highlights the faded smattering of freckles across her nose, or the way Travis lies with her head in Lawson’s lap as she stares up at the sky and they figure out what the best way to deal with her disastrous new haircut is. 

“I kinda like it like this,” Lawson says. “But you could just go to a salon and ask them to fix it up.”

“I’ve never been to a salon in Philly before,” Travis says. 

“Where do you get your hair cut during the season, then?”

Travis shrugs. “I dunno,” she says. “I don’t, I guess.” 

Lawson doesn’t say anything to that, and when Travis tilts her head to get a look at her face, she finds that Lawson looks downright scandalized. 

“But— split ends,” Lawson says, sounding horrified, and Travis bursts out laughing. 

“Oh my god,” Travis says. “Since when do I seem like the type of person to care about split ends? I don’t think I even know what split ends  _ are.” _

“It’s when the end of your hair, like, splits— don’t laugh at me, this is a real thing people know about. It’s, like, the only reason people get haircuts.”

“But you were so  _ concerned,”  _ Travis says, still laughing despite her half-hearted attempts at stopping. “It’s just hair, Law.”

“An entire season is a long time to go without a haircut,” Lawson says. “That’s weird, TK.”

“Hair is the kind of shit pretty girls worry about,” Travis says. “I’m the overgrown tomboy who plays hockey, I don’t have your hot girl problems.” 

“Getting a haircut more than once every eight months isn’t a hot girl problem,” Lawson says. “Also, I’m not a hot girl, and you’re beautiful, so shut the fuck up.” 

“Okay, now you’re just making shit up,” Travis says, hoping Lawson doesn’t notice the way she blushes at the compliment. 

“Am not,” Lawson says. “You know you’re gorgeous. You were, like, the OHL’s leading heartbreaker.” 

Travis makes a sputtering noise. “What the fuck? What does that even mean?” 

“Guys would fall over themselves to get with you, and you barely looked in their direction,” Lawson says. “And when you did, it was only ever— like, you hooked up with a few, but you never wanted to date any of them.”

“Well, people didn’t really do the whole boyfriend-girlfriend thing with other players,” Travis says, trying not to think about the things she did with guys because she was tired of not knowing what sex was like. 

“Some people did,” Lawson says. “They would’ve, with you.”

It’s an in, Travis realizes. It could be as easy as saying,  _ I didn’t want a boyfriend back then because I don’t like guys,  _ and then Lawson would know, and Travis wouldn’t have this weight sitting in the pit of her stomach, knowing that she’s gonna have to say something eventually. 

But the nostalgia is too strong, and deep down, Travis knows telling Lawson will end up fracturing something between them.  

“Well, no one told me, and— whatever,” Travis says. “Guys are dumb, they just want what they can’t have. It wasn’t because I’m, like, pretty, or something.” 

“Could be both,” Lawson says. 

Travis shakes her head. “A guy on Sarnia straight-up walked into a wall when he saw you in leggings,” she says. “You’re the pretty one. Always have been, always will be.” 

“It doesn’t have to be a competition,” Lawson says. “I’m not trying to say I’m ugly, just— you’re pretty, Trav.” 

Travis’ face is burning, and she should probably reroute this conversation, but it’s too tempting. “Well, you’re pretty too.” 

“Fine,” Lawson says. “Thank you.” 

“Thank  _ you, _ ” Travis says, and she’s going for— she’s not even sure, honestly. Faux-argument, maybe, except there’s nothing really light about the moment. The air is weirdly charged, and Travis can’t tell if it’s just her feeling it, or if Lawson’s also noticing that something’s off.

She’s not really sure, and she doesn’t hate it, even though it’s overwhelming confusion, which is something that should feel terrible. Then again, she’s still got a head in Lawson’s lap, and the sky is still so blue, even if it is starting to turn yellow at the edges, so maybe it’s just too nice right now for Travis to really feel upset. 

…… 

The Neon Museum turns out to be a lot creepier than Travis had expected, which is very much a good thing, because the spectacle of the graveyard effect is a great distraction from the butterflies in Travis’ stomach. 

“It’s, like… sad?” Lawson says. “I feel bad for them. Is that weird?” 

“For what, the signs?” Travis says. 

“I guess,” Lawson says. “I can’t tell if the ones that can still light up are sadder than the ones that can’t.”

Travis shrugs. “The ones that can’t light up look like Las Vegas, but, like, after the apocalypse.”

“If none of them lit up, it would look like the apocalypse happened a long time ago,” Lawson says. “But some of them do, so the apocalypse was probably more recent.”

“Like, the world hasn’t run out of power yet?” Travis says. 

“Something like that.” 

“I think the more recent apocalypse sounds nice,” Travis says. “There’s still hope there, y’know?”

“I guess,” Lawson says. “You said this was the best sunset in Las Vegas, right?”

“It’s supposed to be,” Travis says. 

“Hm.” Lawson tilts her chin up and looks at the sky, which is all sorts of bright colors right now. Travis thinks it might actually be one-upping the neon. “It’s really pretty.”

“Sure is,” Travis says, and right as her breath starts to get short, Lawson reaches out and grabs her hand, squeezes once, then lets their fingers tangle gently, like she’s not trying to hold Travis here, just wants to enjoy this touch while she can get it.

Travis wonders what they look like to other people, if there’s anyone who would see them and assume they’re in love in the way Travis wishes they could be, the way Travis already is.

Neither of them says anything for a few minutes. This area of the museum isn’t exactly empty, but it’s on the late side for museum visits and not exactly the height of tourist season, so the other visitors are mostly pairs of people like them, taking time to themselves and thinking about things that are big and small and light and dark. 

Travis doesn’t think about how the other people are mostly couples, or at the way her heart felt like it was reaching out when she saw two men walking around holding hands. She doesn’t have room for those feelings right now; all she can really handle is the gentle warmth of Lawson’s hand against hers, the lump in her throat that’s been there since the sky started to change color, and the bright stripes of light streaking across her field of vision. 

“Should we go back to the hotel?” Lawson asks. 

Travis had planned for them to leave around now, but her flight’s probably gonna be delayed anyway, and it’s not like she needs more time to pack, so—  

“A few more minutes,” she says, stepping closer to Lawson and pulling her arm over her shoulders. 

The moment feels easier than anything has in days. 

……

Travis turned out to be right about flight delays, and Lawson’s not leaving until tomorrow morning, so they order room service french fries and spend the rest of the night packing at a leisurely pace, and once that’s done, they go out onto the balcony of the hotel room. The dark makes things feel a little easier, make the impending end of this weird pocket of vacation time seem less real. 

“Thank you so much,” Lawson says, her voice kind of quiet. “For planning this. And dragging me here, and obviously for paying for it all, but mostly just—” Her voice trails off. “Just, thanks.”

“Any time,” Travis says. 

Things have felt quiet since the Neon Museum, like the background noises faded out while Travis wasn’t looking, and now the silence is looming, closing in around Travis like a stormcloud on a sunny day. 

“Hey,” Lawson says, nudging Travis. “You good?”

“Yeah, just— zoned out.”

“Right,” Lawson says. “It’s just— you keep looking at me like there’s something you want to tell me.” 

Travis thinks back to the Neon Museum, and Lawson’s hair glowing against the setting sun. Travis has always liked looking at the sky, searching for faces in clouds and constellations and marveling at the colors that can only exist somewhere between day and night, but she thinks Lawson might actually be the most incredible thing she’s ever seen, even more beautiful than sunrises and sunsets and the skies they bring with them. 

There are words trapped right behind Travis’ lips, but there’s just so much she wants to say, and not enough room inside of her to dig through all these just barely disentangled thoughts. There are so many uncrossed wires that she’s still trying to reconfigure, and messages keep getting mixed in the process. 

“Okay, so— I never had a thing for Nolan,” is what ends up coming out. “I mean, like, I kissed him, but it wasn’t— I didn’t care.” 

Lawson blinks. “Oh,” she says. “You didn’t?”

“No,” Travis says, a bit breathless. She can’t really pinpoint why that feels like a confession already, but she can’t shake the feeling that it is, all the same. 

“Then why did you say you did?” 

“I thought I did,” Travis says honestly. “He’s one of my favorite people, and I thought that if I just tried hard enough and squinted and looked from the right angle, things would click, and I’d finally see what everyone else saw in us, y’know? But I never actually wanted— I just thought it was what should happen, or what was going to happen, so I might as well try to make it happen.” 

“You can’t help what you feel,” Lawson says, her face in perfect silhouetted profile, her voice carefully neutral. 

“Yeah,” Travis says. “I know that now.” 

There’s a silence after that, loaded with everything Travis should be saying but can’t. She wants Lawson to comb through the tension and pick it out, to spare her from having to say it, because the thing that’s making this hard isn’t the fact that Travis likes girls, it’s the fact that Travis likes  _ this _ girl, and the fact that, for the first time, there’s a chance Lawson won’t be able to love Travis the way Travis loves her, no matter how hard she wishes she could.

“What—” Lawson gulps, tilting her face slightly away from Travis, but not before Travis catches the blush flooding her cheeks. “What did you think you’d want, from him? If you felt that way?” 

Hope flashes in Travis’ chest, bright and tempting and so, so dangerous. “I guess…” She bites her lip, trying to remember how to breathe and think and speak in order. “I thought I’d want to— I don’t know, even. It’s just that, like, liking guys— it never came easy to me, and I just thought that was because I was picky, or something.” 

“But it’s not?” Lawson says, the words weirdly slow, and Travis has no fucking clue what it means. 

“It’s not,” Travis confirms.

“Then what is it?” Lawson asks, turning to look at Travis, and Travis reflexively looks at her feet. She wonders how many times she’s been almost caught staring at people she didn’t know she was allowed to want, how many times she was oblivious to how natural it was to let her eyes wander over the soft curve of Lawson’s shoulders. 

She picks at the hem of her sleeve. “It’s weird,” Travis says. “I guess I just learned what I was supposed to be into, and I didn’t even realize how much of it was just that, me doing what I thought was the thing to do. Like, you know how whenever you go to a restaurant you just put your napkin on your lap, and don’t even think about it? Or how my mom used to yell at me for holding my fork wrong until I learned to hold it right? It’s like that.” 

“Like, manners?” 

“Sort of,” Travis says. “You just learn things about being a person. Like, the first time I went over to your house, I was so confused that you guys had a trash can under the sink.” 

“It’s a normal place to keep a trash can,” Lawson says, smiling a little. 

“Right,” Travis says. “But I didn’t know that, so I just assumed, and— and it’s sort of like that, with liking people. I just never realized that someone told me how to do it, and that it might not be the same for me as it is for everyone else, and that there’s no actual right way to do it. And everyone kept making comments about me and Nolan, so I figured it was just the thing to do. I didn’t know that I could just like who I thought I liked and just, like, go with that.” 

“TK,” Lawson says, “what are you trying to say?” 

“C’mon, Law,” Travis says. “You know.” 

“I just—” 

“You _ know,” _ Travis repeats, squeezing her eyes shut. 

There’s a long beat before Lawson speaks, breaking up the ocean sounds that are playing in Travis’ ears. “I asked your dad if I could marry you, when I was little.”

“What?” 

“Yeah,” Lawson says. “I think we were, like, 8? And I’d just learned that that was like, a thing, so I went to ask him, except I think he thought I was asking if it was allowed, like I’d heard something about gay marriage on the news, or something? So he just explained that it was legal for girls to marry girls everywhere in Canada, and I was really confused that he didn’t answer my question.” 

“What did you mean to ask, then?”

“If I could marry you,” Lawson says. “Like, I was asking for your hand.”

“Seriously?” Travis laughs a little, surprised. “When we were 8?” 

“I think I had it in my head that if I asked your dad permission to ask you, then I could get married without my parents’ permission, or something. It didn’t make much sense.” 

“You could’ve asked me directly,” Travis says. 

“I was trying to do things properly,” Lawson says. “I made pipe cleaner rings and everything.” 

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” 

“Well, I didn’t get your dad’s permission, technically,” Lawson says. “Plus, I think I sort of… chickened out, or maybe just forgot about it, or something. I dunno.” 

“You remember it now.” 

“It’s a cute story.” She shrugs. “I dunno, 8 is kind of old to ask your friend to marry you, I guess.” 

“I’d say it’s way too young,” Travis says, and they both manage a laugh at that, even though Travis is pretty sure there’s not enough air between them for it. 

“Yeah,” Lawson says. “Guess so.” 

When Travis chances a look, Lawson’s the one staring at her hands, so Travis nudges her with her elbow a little, feeling a little brave. “I would’ve said yes, you know.” 

“You’re, like, a decade too late,” Lawson says. “I don’t know where the rings are anymore.” 

“I didn’t think the offer was still open,” Travis says. “Just— I would’ve said yes, when we were 8. Maybe it would’ve been helpful to know that was a thing.” 

“You didn’t know about gay marriage back then?” 

Travis shrugs. “I mean, I guess I did? But in this, like, abstract sort of way, y’know? It wasn’t something that people told me I could do, if I wanted to.”

“Maybe they figured you’d realize it on your own,” Lawson says. 

“Maybe,” Travis says, and it hasn’t even been a week, but this train of thought is already starting to feel like a well-worn path, all the what-if’s and mental hurdles she should’ve overcome on her own. She’ll make her peace with those in time, hopefully. 

“Hey,” Lawson says. “We’re in Vegas.” 

“I know,” Travis says. 

“People get married in Vegas,” Lawson says, and it takes Travis a second to process what Lawson’s just said. 

“People also gamble away their life savings,” Travis says, her head spinning, because Lawson sounds like she’s trying to disguise something as a joke that isn’t, and Travis absolutely cannot say yes, no matter how badly she wants to. 

“I’m just saying,” Lawson says, except she’s not, because that’s not something she can just  _ say.  _ “I could go into a jewelry store and get some rings. Or get some pipe cleaners and recreate the old ones, even, and then we could just— do Vegas. Duck into a chapel and make it happen, y’know?” 

“Thought you wanted my dad’s permission,” Travis says, because Lawson’s voice is weirdly calm, and Travis still can’t figure out what the fuck is going on in her head right now. 

“I thought I should want it, when I was 8,” Lawson says. “Aren’t we done with wanting things because we think we should? Isn’t that what you were saying before?” 

“Getting married is a little different from that,” Travis says, not sure how this conversation ended up here or when Lawson became the type of person to just spontaneously propose marriage with no warning. “Dude, what’s— are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” Lawson says, and she does a convincing job of looking and sounding fine to the untrained eye, but Travis knows her too well to believe it for a second. 

“You’re lying,” Travis says, with her usual level of subtlety. “You’re not fine. Talk to me.” 

“God, fucking— fine, okay.” Lawson wipes a hand over her face. “It didn’t stop with the pipe cleaners, okay? It was— when I was, like, 12, and we were all obsessed with our first kisses? I couldn’t stop thinking about how great it would be if we— if it was the two of us. And then it wasn’t, and it was fine, but, like, every time one of those things would happen, one of those firsts? I kept wanting it to be you. Like, sex, and also prom, and also— I don’t know.” She throws her hands in the air, a little helpless. “It wouldn’t go away, and I spent fucking years trying to make it stop, and the only thing that made it okay was that you never actually liked anyone else, so it was easier that you didn’t like me.” 

“Oh,” Travis says, because she’s not really sure what else she can say. She grabs onto the railing, suddenly wishing there was somewhere to sit so she could close her eyes and put her head between her legs and breathe. 

“I’m sorry,” Lawson says. “It’s just that the Nolan shit sucked for me, and it keeps bringing up all these old feelings, and— fuck, I don’t know, I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” Travis says,  _ old feelings  _ ringing in her ears like something awful. 

“I was really into you,” Lawson says. “For so long, right? And now you’re telling me that it could’ve actually been something, and— I just don’t like feeling like we missed out on something, I guess.” 

“There are other things we could do about it besides get married,” Travis says, hope flickering in her chest again, but it feels a little pathetic this time, and goes out altogether when Lawson shakes her head. 

“We can’t,” Lawson says. “I mean, the getting married thing— that was fucking stupid, whatever.” 

Travis nods, feeling a little like she might throw up. “And the rest of it too, then?” 

Lawson purses her lips. “You live in Philly, I live in Arizona,” she says. “That’s pretty fucking far.” 

“People make it work,” Travis says, and it sounds desperate, even to her. 

“Maybe,” Lawson says. “But right at the start? After so many years of just— of things not working out?” 

The issue, Travis thinks, is probably not the distance; it’s the fact that Law apparently spent years trying to get over Travis, and when Law sets her mind to something, she gets it done. 

Travis is suddenly angry at the years of missed opportunities, of all the time she spent closeted and confused that she knows she isn’t getting back. She’s mad at every dumb comment, every TV show and movie and real-life adult that told her romance was finding a boy she wouldn’t mind spending the rest of her life with, and not falling in love with her best friend. 

Mostly, she’s mad at herself, because she should’ve figured this the fuck out, but she hadn’t, and now Lawson has to break her heart. 

“I’m sorry,” Travis says weakly, and she doesn’t want to cry right now, but she’s getting dangerously close. Lawson is one of the few people who’s actually seen her cry before, but Travis couldn’t even imagine getting comfort from her.

“It’s just— why now?” Lawson asks. “Like, it could’ve been—”

“I know what it could’ve been, okay?” Travis says. “I just— I didn’t  _ know,  _ Law.” 

“How could you not know?” Lawson says. 

“Because I didn’t,” Travis says, helpless and a little angry, now. “Because no one told me that girls were even an option, I don’t know. This shit’s hard, alright?”

“But there’s a difference between liking girls and liking one girl,” Lawson says. 

“Well, it didn’t work that way for me,” Travis says. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m sorry I didn’t realize I’m super fucking gay? Doesn’t everyone say that people figure it out on their own time?”

“I just wish that you could’ve figured it out while I was fucking waiting for you—”

“No one asked you to wait for me, Law,” Travis says. “I definitely didn’t, considering I didn’t even know there was anything you’d be waiting for.”

“Don’t pretend you didn’t know, at least a little,” Lawson says. “You had to know. You’re not an idiot, okay? It was pretty fucking obvious.” 

“Fuck  _ obvious,” _ Travis says. “I didn’t have a fucking clue that— if someone had mentioned the idea of me dating girls as any sort of possibility, I would’ve been all over that shit, but I didn’t even know I was allowed to think about it, let alone actually want it—”

“Then how did you figure it out now?” Lawson says. 

“Who the fuck knows,” Travis says. “I can’t explain every single feeling I’ve ever had. I can barely understand half of the things that go on in my brain, but— I know this, okay? This is who I am  _ now. _ We learn things about ourselves when we grow up, that’s sort of how life works, Law.”

“I just wish you learned this thing about yourself earlier,” Lawson says. 

“Yeah, well,” Travis says, “Imagine how I must feel, huh?” 

Her voice wavers, and Lawson notices, but doesn’t do anything but turn away, which is sort of the final straw for Travis, because it’s just— it’s not fair that she has to comfort the both of them, especially when she can barely manage to comfort herself, and it’s not fair that she’s got this pit of second-guess in her stomach that has no place being there. She knows what she wants and who she likes, and she knows it’s not any less true just because it took her longer to figure out, but it’s still— 

The problem is, really, that she doesn’t feel as sure as she wants to, and she doesn’t know how to end this conversation without either admitting that or walking away, and, well— 

Travis has a flight to catch. 

“I’m leaving,” Travis says. “I already gave my credit card info to the front desk, but if they give you any problems—” 

“I’ll figure something out,” Lawson says, and she sounds so cold right now that it stings. 

Travis wants to say something—because there’s no way Lawson can know how much this hurts, because if she did, she wouldn’t be making Travis feel this way—but she’s scared, and she’s exhausted, and she really doesn’t want to be here anymore, so she keeps her mouth shut.   

…… 

Travis sleeps in the cab to the airport, groggily makes her way through security, then sleeps on the flight home, and by the time she’s landed in the Philly airport well past midnight, it feels like all she’s done for the past few days is sleep. 

Not that she’s particularly well-rested, or anything. Just— it feels like she’s been walking in a fog for the last few days, and the bright lights make her memories feel a little like dreams. It’s all unseasonable and implausible, and if she weren’t carrying a suitcase right now, she might not believe that any of it happened, except she is, and it did. 

And it’s all— 

She loves Lawson, Lawson loved her, Lawson doesn’t want her anymore, is the bare bones of it. 

It’s too  _ much.  _

She gives the cab driver Nolan’s address, doesn’t think twice when she pulls up to his apartment, and she knows it’s late and that he’s probably sleeping and that she shouldn’t wake him up because they both have a game tomorrow—technically today, jesus—but right now, Travis isn’t a hockey player, just a heartbroken girl who needs her best friend. 

“Teeks?” Nolan says, rubbing at his eyes as he opens the door. “What the fuck?” 

“Sorry,” she says. 

Nolan blinks, like he’s deciding whether or not he’s gonna question why she’s showing up at his apartment as the sun is rising, and she’s thankful when he decides not to, just stands aside and lets her in.

“Did you tell her?” he asks.

Travis nods, sitting down on the couch. 

“About—”

“All of it,” Travis says. “The whole thing, pretty much.” 

“Okay,” Nolan says, and then, after a beat, “Well, what’d she say?”

“She doesn’t—” her voice cracks, and she has to swallow before she can speak again. “She didn’t even want to try.”

“Is it because of the whole… like, because you’re both girls?”

Travis shakes her head. “I was just— y’know. Too late, I guess.”

“Oh,” Nolan says. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, so am I,” Travis says, and the words aren’t even out of her mouth before big, ugly tears start to fall, which is really the last thing she needs right now. 

“Teeks,” Nolan says, and Travis expects him to be uncomfortable and awkward and have no clue what to do, except he puts an arm around her and starts rubbing small circles into her back like this is something he’s used to. 

She doesn’t know where the comfort is coming from, but she doesn’t question it, just buries her face into his t-shirt and starts to let out big, ugly sobs. 

“It’s not— it’s not even that she  _ can’t,”  _ Travis says, barely managing to get the words out. “She just won’t. She said she would’ve, if it’d been earlier, but I was a fucking dumbass.” 

“You weren’t a dumbass,” Nolan says. “You were confused.” 

“I was a confused dumbass,” Travis says stubbornly. “Fuck, I hate this.” 

“I know,” Nolan says, and Travis really doubts that he does, because he’s got a boyfriend and his shit figured out, but she appreciates the sentiment. 

She ends up crashing there for the night, falling asleep in his bed as she feels warmth emanate from where he’s curled up with his back to her on the other side of the bed, and it’s pretty nice, but— 

Nolan isn’t Lawson, and even though Lawson’s the one who broke her heart and Nolan’s the one who’s trying to fix it, Travis still wishes that she was with Lawson right now, because, despite everything, she still wants her more than anyone else in the world. 

It’s not fair, but there’s not much Travis can do about it but go to sleep and hope it hurts less in the morning

…… 

It feels like it’s too soon to go back to hockey the next day, but she somehow makes it through morning skate, even feels a little bit better from it. She still has enough of a heart to love hockey, which is good, and having to focus on something else helps. The team doesn’t ask her too much about Lawson or her extra day in Vegas, and she’s not sure if it’s because they figure it’s not their business or because the heartbreak is that obvious, but either way, she’s thankful for it. 

They’ve got a home game against New Jersey that night, which is always sort of a big deal, but rivalry games bring a sense of team identity into the locker room, and being at home is keeping Travis grounded. Being this messed up over Lawson is making her feel a little like she’s in free fall, but having her team and her sport helps, enough that she feels okay to go back to her apartment for the rest of her pre-game ritual. 

She’s feeling so okay that she starts to imagine a hypothetical future where she could actually get over Lawson, too, which is why, when Lawson calls, she lets it go to voicemail.

It’s not easy for her to do it; she freezes when she sees who the call is from, then stares at the ringing phone the entire time, thumb hovering over the answer button, but she doesn’t know why Lawson is calling, what they could possibly have to say to each other. Lawson’s moved on from her, and she needs time to catch up. Travis never shuts up usually, but right now, the idea of saying meaningless sentence after meaningless sentence and pretending things are anything close to normal sounds exhausting, and Travis can’t do it. 

So, the call goes to voicemail, and when it does, Travis lets out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding. 

She’s not even finished exhaling before the phone rings again. 

“Jesus,” she mumbles to herself, and something like anger spikes through her, enough of a shock that before she knows what’s happening, she’s holding her phone to her ear. “What?” 

“Oh my god, it’s— you picked up.” Lawson’s voice is muddied by the phone, but Travis thinks she sounds kind of breathless, which makes Travis’ chest do about eight things she can’t handle right now. 

“You called me twice,” Travis says, trying to sound cold. She  _ is  _ mad, she realizes; of course she’s mad. Lawson’s already turned her down, she doesn’t get to make this harder for Travis than it already is. “I was trying to sleep.” 

“It’s the middle of the day,” Lawson says. 

_ “Game _ day,” Travis says. “You know, that whole hockey thing I do sometimes?” 

“Shit,” Lawson says. “I’ll call back later—”

“No, out with it,” Travis says, because she’s not gonna be able to do anything if she has to walk around knowing that there’s something Lawson wanted to tell her. “Why’d you call?” 

“It’s just— if you have a game—” 

“Lawson,” Travis says, exhausted.  

“I’m sorry,” Lawson says. “Fuck, I shouldn’t have called, but— god. I just— did you mean it? When you said you’d have said yes, if I’d asked you back then?” 

“What, when we were 8?” Travis says.

“Or— fuck, I don’t know. Any time. Kissing, prom— whatever.” 

“Law—”

“I just need… I don’t even know, just— I need to know.” 

“Why?” Travis says. “You already gave me your answer, it doesn’t matter.” 

“I don’t think I realized what you were asking,” Lawson says. 

Travis feels frozen, and a bit of hope she hadn’t even realized she was holding onto sparks weakly in her chest. “You said it’s been too long,” she says. “You said Philly is too far, and that it wouldn’t work out if we tried.” 

“But I didn’t realize that you still—” she cuts herself off, and Travis waits, but she doesn’t finish the sentence. 

Travis sighs. “Listen, I get it, okay? It must’ve been awful all those years, hearing me talk about guys, or whatever.” It’s worse for her to look back on those crushes and realize how much of that attraction was learned, but she doesn’t bring that up right now.

“It… I mean, it was,” Lawson says. “But it wasn’t like I was just— I wasn’t holding out for you, y’know?”

“Yeah, well, old feelings, right?” Travis says. “That’s what you called them, your feelings for me.  _ Old  _ feelings.” 

“I made you a pipe cleaner ring,” Lawson says. “I’d say those feelings are pretty old.” 

“But I wasn’t talking about old feelings,” Travis says. “Like— if you’d asked me when we were kids, or even when we were old enough to kiss, or do other stuff, I’d have said yes, but it’s also, like— we’re adults, Law, and I’m just figuring this out for the first time. This is all new to me.” 

“I realized that after we left,” Lawson says. 

“Jesus christ,” Travis says, lying back with a groan. “When did we fall this out of sync?” Her pre-game nap is a lost cause, but that seems secondary, all of a sudden.

“I know,” Lawson says, and it’s almost like commiserating. Travis isn’t sure commiserating is a thing you can do, when you’re talking about how you keep fucking up any chance at actually being together, but she can’t think of a better word. At least if they’re bad at this, they’re gonna be bad at it together. That’s almost like progress, if she tilts her head and squints.

“I love you now, at least,” Travis says, because it’s not like she’s got anything to lose at this point. She’s tired, and just wants this to be over so she can start to figure out a Travis without Lawson; if this is what Lawson needs to hear to let her go, she can say it.  “I mean, I’ve probably loved you for a while, but I for sure love you now.” 

“You—” Lawson cuts herself off with a short, sharp intake of breath. “Oh.” 

“Yeah,” Travis says.

“You love me,” Lawson says, and Travis thinks it’s mostly to herself. “I love you, and you love me.” 

It’s— 

_ I love you, and you love me.  _

Travis’ chest— 

_ I love you, and you love me. _

Lawson can’t— 

_ I love you, and you love me. _

_ I love you.  _

Travis stops breathing around the time the world decides to stop spinning.

“Isn’t that the Barney theme?” Travis blurts out, because she can’t form enough coherent thoughts to actually sort out a reaction.

“Fuck if I know,” Lawson says, sounding a little distant, which is kind of a hilarious thought, considering she’s literally across the country. “You always sang the fucked up versions of it about, like, beating Barney up. I don’t even think I remember the real one.” 

“I was a weird kid,” Travis says, running on autopilot. “Can’t believe I managed to grow up into such a well-adjusted adult.” 

“We beat people up for a living, Trav,” Lawson says, which is a thought that makes Travis feel kind of warm and fuzzy inside. 

“Well, we’re good at it,” Travis says. 

“We are,” Lawson says. “You’re better, though.”

“Law—”

“Shut up, you are,” Lawson says. “I’m in the minors, people own your jersey.  _ I  _ own your jersey. You’re just— you’re better, Trav.”

“It’s just the organization, and development crap—” 

“Sure, whatever,” Lawson says. “This isn’t worth arguing over. You’re not gonna convince me.” 

“Why not?” Travis says, stubbornness setting in, because if she goes into stubbornness, she can forget about— 

“You’re my favorite player,” Lawson says. “My favorite person. No one’s ever gonna be as good as you.” 

“Lawson,” Travis says, and then she gulps, because she’s already come way too close to heartbreak to not go into this carefully. “You said no.” 

“I was an idiot,” Lawson says. 

“God,” Travis says, and she’s shaking, she can’t— “What are you saying yes to now, then?” 

“I don’t know,” Lawson says. “To this. Us.” A beat. “I’m saying yes to you, I guess.” 

Travis takes a deep breath in, feels the air against the walls of her lungs, and lets the pressure build for a second before letting it out in a slow, measured exhale. “You got mad at me, Law.” 

“I’m sorry about that,” Lawson says, but Travis is shaking her head, even though she knows Lawson can’t see. 

“That was a shitty thing to say,” Travis says. “I was coming out to you, and you  _ yelled  _ at me. Because I didn’t do it on your terms.” 

“I wasn’t thinking about it like that.”

“Well, I was.”

Lawson takes a second to respond. “I’m really sorry,” she says. “It was just— this is a shitty fucking excuse, but I guess I didn’t really believe it was happening? So I just— I said my worst thoughts. The bad and angry ones, but that’s not actually how I feel, Trav.” 

It makes something unclench in Travis’ chest. “Yeah,” she says. “I figured. I just wanted to make sure.” 

“I get that it’s hard,” she says. “It wasn’t easy for me, and— god, I’m so fucking sick of fucking this up.” 

“You and me both,” Travis says. 

“I just— doesn’t it feel like it should be easier? It’s you and me, why is it so hard for us to get it straight?”

Travis snorts. “Really? That’s the word you’re gonna use?”

“You know what I meant,” Lawson says. “I love that you like girls. I love that you like  _ me. _ I don’t know why I ever said anything to make it seem like I didn’t, and I’m just— I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean it, I was just confused, or scared, or— something. It’s fucking amazing that you told me, that should’ve been the best news. It  _ is  _ the best news.”

“Then why were you scared?” Travis says, her voice a little quiet. She can’t keep talking for much longer, but this feels important, so if she’s gonna hit pause on this conversation, she wants to do it at the right time. 

“Because I don’t know how to be around you and not have my heart broken,” Lawson says. “It’s dumb.”

“It’s not dumb, Law,” Travis says. 

Lawson laughs, the sound a little thin and not much like anything’s funny. “It’s sort of dumb,” she says. “It’s not like I ever said anything to you, I just assumed you’d know.”

“That’s just hope,” Travis says. “It’s not dumb to hope.”

“I guess not,” Lawson says, and her voice sounds weird and wobbly.

“Are you… crying?” 

“Maybe,” Lawson says. “I’m not really sure why.”

“I get it,” Travis says, feeling a little weepy herself. It’s an overwhelming kind of feeling, hope and relief and fear compounded by waves of adrenaline. “I wish you were here.”

“So do I,” Lawson says, sniffling a little. “Or, I guess it’s good that you can’t see me. Ugly-crying isn’t the best way to get a girlfriend.”

_ Girlfriend.  _ The word sounds different when it’s in Lawson’s voice, when it’s Lawson talking about having a girlfriend and Travis being that girlfriend. It’s more beautiful, maybe.

“I have to go in a bit,” Travis says. “I wish I didn’t, but—”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Lawson says. “Fuck. You have a game tonight, I can’t believe I—”

“It’s okay,” Travis says. “I’m the one who picked up. I— I’m really glad you called, Law.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They sit there for a few seconds, let the world readjust around them for a bit and listen to each other breathe in the meantime. Lawson stops crying, and Travis lets a few tears fall herself, wiping them away quickly when it becomes clear they’re not gonna lead to a full-on breakdown. It feels like the storm has passed, and now they’re sitting in what could have been the wreckage of it, except they’re still standing. Shaken, but still here, strong as they should be. 

“I should really hang up,” Travis says. 

“I know,” Lawson says. “Is it bad that I don’t want you to?”

Travis laughs. “No, I think that’s good, actually.”

“Good,” Lawson says. “Because I really don’t.”

“I don’t want to, but—”

“Yeah, yeah, your team needs you,” Lawson says. “Can’t say I don’t get it.”

“Stop being cheesy,” Travis says. “I need you too, you know.”

“You don’t,” Lawson says.

“Fuck you, I totally do,” Travis says. 

“God,” Lawson says, and Travis can’t tell if it’s a giggle or a shiver that makes the word shake. “I like you so much, Travis. I mean, I love you, too, but I also— okay, uh, I’m not making much sense, I guess.”

“You don’t have to make sense,” Travis says. “I really like you back, you know.”

“I know,” Lawson says.

“And I also love you,” Travis says. “Can’t forget that one.”

“Definitely can’t,” Lawson says. 

“But I need to—”

“Go,” Lawson says. “I know, I know.”

“Just until after the game,” Travis says. “Can I call you?”

“I’ll be on a bus,” Lawson says.

“Alright,” Travis says, deflating a little. “Tomorrow, then?”

“Tomorrow will work,” Lawson says. “I’ve got a game, actually, but— in the morning?”

“I’ll set an early alarm,” Travis says.

“Perfect,” Lawson says. “We can text and stuff, right?”

“Yes, Law, we can text,” Travis says, rolling her eyes and belatedly realizing she’s got the dumbest grin imaginable on right now. She expects Lawson can hear both. 

“Just checking,” Lawson says, a little defensive. 

Travis tries to say,  _ you’re such a loser,  _ but what ends up coming out is, “You’re so cute.”

“No, you,” Lawson says automatically. 

Travis lets her head fall between her legs, silent giddy giggles bubbling up inside of her chest. She feels a thousand times lighter. “We’re really bad at ending phone calls.”

“You do it,” Lawson says. “I’m weak. You’re the one who can lay down the law.”

“Lay down the— jesus,” she says, unable to stop the laughter that bursts out. “Moving a little fast there, eh?”

“I’m never speaking again,” Lawson says, sounding a little mortified. “Never mind, forget I ever even tried to put words together, ever.”

“Never,” Travis says. “This is absolutely part of your charm.”

“I’m hanging up now,” Lawson says.

“Well, who’s  _ laying down the law _ now?”

“I can’t believe I love you,” Lawson says. “I can’t believe  _ you  _ love  _ me.” _

“Believe it,” Travis says, wiping tears from the corners of her eyes. She can’t remember the last time she cried so much in such a short period of time, and makes a mental note to be extra diligent about hydration, just in case. “I guess this is goodbye for now.”

“Only for now,” Lawson says. “I’ll text you.”

“Please do,” Travis says.

“Alright,” Lawson says, then, after a second’s hesitation, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Travis says, and she probably shouldn’t be surprised that Lawson actually ends the call there, but it catches her a little off guard nonetheless. 

…… 

Travis turns off her phone immediately after they hang up, just because she doesn’t trust herself with it, and spends the rest of her would-be nap time going back and forth between anxiously pacing around her apartment and trying various methods of calming down. 

She lasts about a second with meditation, and gives up on reorganizing her kitchen as soon as she opens a drawer, but she finds mild success when she remembers that 2048 exists and proceeds to kill the remaining 20 minutes she has before she leaves on that. She doesn’t set any new high scores, but at least by the time she has to get into her car and head over to the rink, her hands are shaking a little less. 

It’s just— she doesn’t even  _ know.  _ She’s happy, is the thing. She’s just so happy that it’s sort of spilling out of her body, happy enough that she’s drowning in it a little, and it’s so much fucking  _ feeling,  _ even if that feeling is a good feeling. 

She thinks listening to music will help, but every song that isn’t about love is totally foreign to her, and every song that is feels inadequate— like, there’s no way that even people singing about love are as in love as Travis is right now, unless Travis drastically underestimated what it would be like to be in love. She could totally write a song, or a whole album, about this feeling, because it’s like the promise of something great mixed in with all her dreams coming true, time folding in on itself until she thinks about the present and the future alongside the past. 

God, it’s just— Lawson, Lawson,  _ Lawson.  _ Everything is Lawson Crouse and smiles and feeling so full she can barely process the world around her. She does things, opens doors and walks down hallways and shit, but none of it feels real, because the real world is with Lawson, in her smile and her eyes and her chin hooked over Travis’ head. 

Travis doesn’t even notice when Nolan is late to the rink, only even bothers to look up from her feet and tune out the low hum of  _ lawsonlawsonlawson  _ in her mind because some of the guys are giving him crap, and apparently her protective instincts are fine-tuned, even when the rest of her social capabilities are struggling. 

“What’s up?” she says, mentally patting herself on the back for managing two whole words without bringing up Lawson. “Why were you late?” 

“Oh, you know,” Nolan says, then turns a very rarely-seen shade of red. “I was talking to Nico.” 

Travis raises her eyebrows  _ high  _ at that. “Hischier?” 

“Yeah,” Nolan says, a mumble even by Nolan Patrick standards. 

“Huh,” Travis says, nodding, and usually she’d be inclined to give him more shit, but right now, she’s putting the pieces together. Nico Hischier’s been kissing her best friend since last June, and Nico Hischier caused a full-on gay crisis, and Nico Hischier is now Nolan’s boyfriend, which means that Nolan’s boyfriend now has a name and a face, and it’s Nico’s name and face. “That’s cool.”

“It is,” Nolan says, and Travis isn’t sure what’s weirder, the fact that he grins all dopily at that, or the fact that she can relate to it. 

“Lawson called,” she says. “A few hours ago.”

“What’d she say?”

“Well.” She bites her lip, looks around the room, and lets the corners of her mouth turn up. “Uh, we talked, and she— apologized, and stuff.”

“And stuff?” Nolan says, raising his eyebrows.

“And stuff,” Travis confirms. “I’m. Good stuff.”

“How good?” 

“Really good.” She can’t help but let the grin spread wider and dumber, sort of powerless to everything again. She wonders if this feeling wears off, or if she just walks around for the rest of her life feeling a surge of electricity coursing through her veins, and if that’s what it’s like, when you’re in love. 

“Wow,” Nolan says.

“I know,” she says. “We’re gonna talk more later, but— god, I don’t even— I just wanna do something big and dumb, y’know?”

“You already flew her out to Vegas,” Nolan says. 

“I know,” Travis says. “But even bigger. Even dumber.”

Nolan shrugs. “I mean,” he says, “I’d just say, like, go for it?” 

Travis blinks. “What?” 

“It’s your girl,” Nolan says. “Plus, tomorrow’s Valentine’s Day.” 

“Is it really?” Travis says, counting back days in her head. “What the fuck, I had no idea.” 

“It’s a good time for an anniversary. You can combine gifts and cards and stuff.” 

Travis is weirdly disappointed by that, and she realizes, a little horrified, that it’s because she  _ wants  _ more than one day to celebrate Lawson and shower her with gifts. That’s already assuming they last a whole year, which is kind of a major  _ if,  _ but still, Travis has never been this sappy before, at least not when it comes to romance. 

It’s not a bad feeling at all, though. If she had to compare it to anything, it’d probably be, like, skating. 

Or maybe flying, if she’s being really honest. 

“If I get in trouble for this, I’m blaming it on you,” she says. 

“How?” 

“You’re the one who told me to follow my heart,” she says. 

That earns her an unamused look from Nolan, which, like— it’s probably fair. There are three things in life about which Travis is absolutely sure: first, that she is a hockey player; second, that there is a part of her—a very large part—that is head-over-heels in love with her best friend; and third, that Nolan Patrick would definitely never, ever, under any circumstances, say the words ‘follow your heart.’   

“Okay, well, I’m paraphrasing, but you get the point,” she says.   

“I hate you,” Nolan says. “I hope your big dumb idea involves you going far away from me.” 

“I’m not making any promises,” she says, grinning, and picks up her phone, turns it off airplane mode, and starts to plan.  

……

Hockey passes in a blur, and by the time she’s off the ice and done with postgame, she’s found a few holes in her plan, but surprisingly, not many. She takes it as a good sign— if she’s overthinking and not second-guessing, that means it might not be as dumb an idea as she thought it was.

In an ideal world, Travis could keep this a surprise, but life isn’t a romcom, so she figures she should initiate some sort of communication to make sure this whole thing doesn’t blow up in her face. 

As she’s throwing her stuff hastily in a duffel, staring at her iMessage thread with Lawson, she sees a grey bubble pop up and then disappear, at which point she immediate grabs her phone and stares for a solid thirty seconds, during which Lawson starts and then abandons messages two more times. 

Travis types  _ hey i was just  _ before deleting it when Lawson starts typing again, but then Lawson stops when Travis stops, so Travis decides to cut to the chase and send something before this turns into a ridiculous game of type-and-delete tag. 

_ hey,  _ she says, figuring it’s innocuous enough. 

Lawson’s response is immediate.  _ hi :)))  _

_ :),  _ Travis sends back, because she actually is smiling pretty wide and figures Lawson deserves to know as much. She follows it up quickly with,  _ did you catch the game?  _

_ duh! nice goal :D  _

God, this girl. 

Travis sends  _ thx,  _ then _ :),  _ then  _ i scored it for you,  _ all in quick succession. 

The grey bubble returns, goes away, then comes back once more before the message comes through.  _ i wish we could talk.  _

_ i know,  _ Travis says, and then, figuring it’s as good an in as she’s gonna get, she sends, _ would you judge me if I did something stupid?  _

_ what kind of stupid?  _

_ the normal tk kind of stupid, but more romantic  _

_ go for it :) _

_ cool,  _ Travis says.  _ igtg sleep, we’re talking tomorrow right?  _

_ bright n early!!!!!  _

_ good,  _ then,  _ :) :) :)  _

_ sleep well and sweet dreams,  _ Lawson says, and Travis is pretty sure there’s an implied, ‘I wish I could be there with you.’ It’s always nice sharing a bed with Lawson, but under these circumstances, it feels a little bit like a need. 

Honestly, even if Travis had any intention of spending the night in her own bed, she knows she wouldn’t be able to sleep for shit, so it’s maybe better this way. 

She’s always been pretty good at sleeping on planes, thankfully. 

…...

The San Jose sunrise is a surprisingly pleasant way to wake up, even though Travis’ throat is sore from breathing gross plane air for hours. It’s balanced out by the fact that sunrise in San Jose is 9:30 Travis’ time, so the whole expedition amounts to her staying up late and waking up at a normal-to-late time, in the eyes of Travis’ biological clock. 

It’s not the best choice she’s ever made health-wise, but it’s far from the worst thing a professional athlete has ever done to their body. She’s been good about listening to doctors since she’s turned pro, she eats three athlete-portioned meals a day, and she doesn’t drink that much; she figures a few nights of sleep deprivation won’t kill her.

Plus, being near Lawson is probably good for her health, somehow. Maybe Lawson’s smile is a steady source of Vitamin D, like the other, less impressive sun. 

She’d realized at some point that she didn’t actually know where in San Jose the Roadrunners are staying, but she figured that was something she could work around. Worst case scenario, she could call Lawson and ask for the address, but when she turns on her phone and lets the notifications flood in, she ends up in Snapchat, then remembers that Snap Maps are a thing that Dylan Strome has turned on, and Dylan Strome is currently on the same team, and in the same hotel, as Lawson is. 

Before she knows it, she’s in a cab on the way to the hotel, feeling like something between a stalker and a genius, and kind of unable to believe that she’s actually doing this. 

Go big or go home, she figures. 

By the time she’s awkwardly standing in the lobby of the hotel, she’s a little more awake, and things are a lot more real— her plane clothing feels worn and gross, and she kind of wants a shower, and she keeps reaching back to put her hair in a ponytail before remembering that it’s too short for that now. She should probably get the cut touched up at some point, actually; it doesn’t look terrible, but she’s pretty sure hair is supposed to have layers, or shape, or some other shit that Lawson knows more about than she does. 

Right now, though, all she can do is run her fingers through it a few times and hope it doesn’t look terrible as she goes to Lawson’s contact and hits call. 

“Hey,” Lawson says, sounding a little sleepy over the phone. “Your call beat my alarm by five minutes.”

She’s probably just woken up, Travis realizes, and she takes a second to imagine Lawson curled up in warm sheets, hair falling out of its ponytail, soft and fresh and lovely. 

“Guess I’ve got good timing then,” Travis says, laughing a little nervously. 

“Guess so,” Lawson says. “Did you wanna FaceTime? I look like a mess, but—” 

“No you don’t,” Travis says. Even first-thing-in-the-morning Lawson is probably more put-together than Travis is at any point during the day, and Travis just took an overnight cross-country flight. 

“Alright,” Lawson says, still sounding gentle, if a little taken aback. “So, uh, FaceTime, then?” 

Travis gulps. “I, uh, don’t think we’ll need to do that.” She’s suddenly very aware that she hasn’t actually seen Lawson’s face since they talked yesterday; it shouldn’t matter, because she knows what Lawson looks like, but it sticks in her mind, anyway. 

“Travis?” Lawson sounds nervous, and she shouldn’t be, but Travis isn’t anywhere near calm enough to reassure her right now. Her hands are shaking, and her breath is starting to get short, and all she can think about is how Lawson is in the same fucking building that she is, only a few floors away, practically close enough to touch.

“Sorry,” Travis says, her voice nowhere near steady. “Just— oh, god.” 

“Travis,” Lawson says again. “What’s going on?” 

Travis squeezes her eyes shut. “Okay, so, uh, where are you— what’s your room number?” 

Lawson is silent for a beat, then: “Why do you want to know?” 

“Just curious,” Travis says, not really sure why she’s lying, or doing any of the things she’s doing right now. Adrenaline, probably. 

“Travis,” Lawson says. “What did you do?”

“It’s nothing,” Travis says. “Just give me your room number.”

“Did you get me a singing telegram?”

“No,” Travis says. “Why would I— and also, how— no. No singing telegrams, what the fuck.”

“I don’t know,” Lawson says. “It’s early, and you’re asking my room number, and I’m just— really confused?”

“Look, just tell me before I start knocking on the door of every room in this hotel and get kicked out.”

“Before you—” There’s some rustling. “What are you talking about?”

“I told you I was gonna do something stupid,” Travis says.

“I didn’t think you meant fly across the country,” Lawson says. 

“I don’t know why you’d rule that out,” Travis says, her mouth running on instinct. “There were some pretty compelling reasons for me to fly across the country.”

“Stop being cute,” Lawson says. “You’re lying, right? You’re not actually here, that’s— how did you even find the hotel?”

“Snap Maps,” Travis says. “Sorry to creep, but I figured you didn’t wanna wake up even earlier.”

“This is insane,” Lawson says. “Stay there, I’ll be down in a bit.”

“Alright,” Travis says, but the call is over before the word is even out of her mouth.

It takes Lawson ten minutes to get down there, which means that she’s either staying on a very high floor, or got held up doing something else, and based on the way her hair looks shiny and smooth, Travis suspects it’s the latter. Other than that, Lawson pretty much— she looks more or less the same as she had two days ago, give or take an outfit change and an expression Travis has never seen on her before. She’s still tall, still beautiful, hasn’t had any breakdowns that manifested in significant haircuts, and doesn’t have any new visible tattoos, but it’s still—  

This is Lawson, the same Lawson who had told Travis yesterday that she was saying yes to her, to  _ them,  _ and Travis doesn’t think she’s making it up, the way this Lawson carries herself a little differently.  

“Did you take forever to get down here because you were getting ready?” Travis says. “You’re already prettier than me, and I’m worse than usual. Really not fair, Law.”

Lawson ignores her. “What are you doing here?” she says, stopping three feet short of Travis, like she’s not sure she’s allowed to come closer.

Travis looks down at her feet, shrugs. “I kind of missed your face,” she says. “It’s been too long.”

“It’s been two days.”

“Well, I really like your face,” Travis says, shifting nervously from foot to foot. “Um, hi.”

“Hey,” Lawson says. “You’re here.”

“We said we’d talk in the morning, right?” Travis says. 

“But you’re here,” Lawson says.

“Yeah,” Travis says. “I’m here.” 

“Wow,” Lawson says, and then they just stare at each other, hesitation mirroring hesitation.

Travis can’t do awkward in normal circumstances, and she definitely can’t do awkward when she’s this exhausted and this in love; she doesn’t like feeling awkward around Lawson, but it doesn’t feel like the worst thing in the world, just— small adjustments, maybe, but they carry promise, so at least there’s that.

Travis takes a deep breath. “I just— I sort of figured that if I’m gonna ask you to be my girlfriend, it’s probably a good idea to do that face to face, right?”

“Right,” Lawson says.

Travis waits for her to say more, but she doesn’t, so Travis gulps and says, “So, um, will you?” 

“Will I what?” 

“Be my girlfriend,” Travis says, like it doesn’t make her heart beat a thousand times too hard to say those words when Lawson’s face is as unreadable as it’s ever been. “Just, y'know. If you want.”

Lawson doesn’t say anything, just keeps her eyes fixed on Travis, and Travis can’t handle the silence.

“You can say no, by the way,” Travis says. “Just because I flew out here, doesn’t mean— like, you can tell me you wanna take it slow, or something…” Her voice trails off.

Lawson just stares some more.

“Any day now,” Travis says.

Lawson shakes her head a little bit, like she’s trying to clear her thoughts. “Sorry,” she says. “I was just trying to think of the word for yes.” 

Travis blinks, lets the words sink in, and then: 

“Oh my god,” Travis says, burying her face in her hands, but Lawson can probably still see how wide she’s smiling. “You— you’re  _ such _ an idiot, you know that?” 

“I’m sorry!” Lawson says. “It’s very early, and you’re very pretty, and— words are hard, okay?” 

“Then stop talking,” Travis says, taking a step toward her. 

The grin Lawson gives her is simultaneously breathtaking and shit-eating. “Would it be too cheesy if I told you to make me?” 

“Yes,” Travis says. She grabs Lawson’s hand, tugs her closer. “But it was sort of what I was hoping you’d say, so.” 

“That’s good, then,” Lawson says, putting her hand on Travis’ shoulder, running the pad of her thumb along her neck. “At least I said the right thing once today.”

“I’m gonna shut you up so you can quit while you’re ahead,” Travis says, and then, pouring every ounce of bravery she has into her ability to feign confidence right now, she leans in, standing on her toes so that her mouth can meet Lawson’s. 

It’s maybe the scariest kiss of Travis’ life, because it’s Lawson, and it’s really fucking weird to kiss someone for the first time when you’ve always known them too well. It’s really fucking weird for Lawson and Travis to do anything for the first time, and this is, like, intimate, and terrifying, and as Travis leans in, all she can feel is fear that this will be like Nolan all over again, even though she knows it won’t. 

But their lips eventually collide, and then it’s just— 

Travis has thought about kissing Lawson more than she’d realized over the years, because she’s matching up the reality of kissing Lawson to expectations she hadn’t even known had been there. Lawson’s lips are soft, if a little chapped, and Travis manages to run a hand through her hair without hitting a single knot, which confirms her theory that Lawson went out of her way to brush it and make herself look presentable before coming down to meet Travis in the lobby. 

Under normal circumstances, Travis would take the time to give her crap for it, but these aren’t normal circumstances, and also, she’s kind of distracted by the fact that she’s in the middle of kissing Lawson, and Lawson’s hands are on her waist and kind of squeezing, and it’s a whole lot, in the best way possible. 

In other words, it’s maybe the best kiss of Travis’ life, because it’s Lawson, and it just feels right, their lips and bodies pressed up close like this. They fit together, which, in hindsight, Travis always sort of knew they would, but still. It’s nice to actually feel it for real. 

“God,” Lawson says, pulling away a little bit, but still close enough that Travis can still feel her breath on her lips. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that.” 

“I don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that either,” Travis says. “I think forever?” 

“Sure feels that way,” Lawson says. 

“Can we—” Travis lets her eyes flicker down to Lawson’s lips. “Again?” 

Lawson shakes her head. “Not until we’re somewhere private,” she says. “So, uh, let’s get somewhere private, yeah?” 

It’s then that Travis notices that Lawson’s eyes are wide and dark, and suddenly, everything feels low and hot and urgent. 

“Yeah,” Travis says, her voice shaking as she nods jerkily. “Prolly a good idea.” 

From there, everything’s a little bit of a blur, because, as it turns out, when you’ve been wanting to kiss someone this badly for this long, it’s hard to stop kissing them, rules of decency be damned. Lawson’s mouth alone feels so good that Travis kind of wants to explode, and she always forgets that kissing is never just about lips. They make it to an elevator bank, just barely out of sight of the concierge, and it’s probably gross, the way they’re shamelessly all over each other the second they’re at least pretty sure that no one can see. 

It might not even be that scandalous, actually, but Travis feels like it should be; their clothes are on, and they’re still nominally on first base, but Travis can feel Lawson’s breasts pressed up against her, can’t stop thinking about running her hands over them. She remembers being on the girls’ side of the team locker room when she was a teenager, the way girls would just casually admire each other in a way that made Travis’ face burn. One time, Mitch Marner had gone on a whole rant about how great Lawson’s boobs were, hadn’t quite felt her up, but put her hands on her sides enough that her thumbs touched the bottoms of them, and Travis had felt overwhelmingly irritated and humiliated for reasons she couldn’t quite place, even though Lawson seemed pretty flattered by the whole thing. 

In hindsight, Travis thinks that her Lawson-specific possessive streak might’ve just been a cover for some other, more complicated feelings, but she’s not gonna dwell too much on the past right now, when Lawson’s arms are wrapped tight around her like she’s never going to let her go, as if Travis would even try to move an inch away from her. 

It’s weird, what passes for decent. Travis knows that, objectively, they’re strictly in the realm of PG-13 activity, but she’s so full of want that it feels like more. Lawson tugs her into the elevator, and Travis presses her up against the wall and kisses her senseless, and when Lawson’s thigh ends up between her legs, she grinds down on it, letting out this shivery moan that’s definitely not decent. The fabric of Travis’ leggings is thin, and Lawson’s wearing these lacy shorts that really put her thighs on full display, and it’s so fucking close to being actual touching that there’s a very large chance that Lawson can already feel how wet Travis is through her clothing.

It feels like sex, is the point, hotter and more intimate than anything Travis has ever done with another human being, and she’s very aware that she has no idea how to have sex with a woman, but blind desire to put her hands everywhere and touch Lawson’s everything have landed her here, so she figures she might as well keep following her instincts. 

“Fuck,” she says, right in Lawson’s ear. 

“This good?” Lawson says, and Travis nods frantically. 

“God, how much time do you have?” 

“For what?”

“I don’t know,” Travis says. She’s not really thinking clearly right now, because Lawson, and because sex. “Until you have to be anywhere, I guess.” 

“A few hours,” Lawson says. 

“Good,” Travis says. “We have time, then.” 

“For what?” Lawson asks, but before Travis has a chance to respond, the elevator door opens up, and, weirdly enough, Dylan Strome is on the other side. 

“Oh,” he says. “Hi.”

“Move,” Lawson says simply, literally pushing him out of the way and grabbing Travis’ hand to yank her out of the elevator. 

“Nice to see you, TK,” he calls after them, seemingly unphased, as Travis jogs to keep up with Lawson’s brisk walk. The difference in walking speed is probably the only actual downside to having a girlfriend who’s six inches taller than her. 

“You too,” Travis calls back to him, but she’s not really paying attention at all, because Lawson is stopped in front of a door and fumbling through her wallet, presumably looking for her keycard, and Travis has no choice but to take the opportunity to stand on her toes and press kisses to the back of Lawson’s neck. 

“Stop,” Lawson says. “You’re distracting me.” 

“You’re not complaining,” Travis says. 

“That was literally a complaint,” Lawson says, pulling the keycard out and stuffing it into the hotel door as quickly as she can. 

“Whatever,” Travis says. “You didn’t mean it.” 

“You’re right,” Lawson says, pulling the door open and letting Travis push her inside. “Anyway.” 

“Anyway,” Travis says, slamming the door shut behind her. “Hi.” 

“Hi,” Lawson says, her hands on Travis’ waist, Travis’ hands looped around her neck, and there’s a second where they just stand there and smile at each other dopily, like the urgency dissipated into the privacy of the room, and now it feels like they have all the time in the world to get their hands on each other. 

“Did you know that it’s Valentine’s Day?” Travis says, opting to tug at the collar of Lawson’s shirt and press a small, experimental kiss to her collarbone. 

“Uh, yeah,” Lawson says. “I figured that’s why you came.” 

Travis shrugs. “I mostly just wanted to see you.” She slips her hands under the hem of Lawson’s shirt, runs her thumbs over the skin of Lawson’s stomach. “Just to make things official, y’know.” 

“Is that what the kids are calling it these days,” Lawson says, and Travis feels her cheeks go a little pink. 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Travis says. “My intentions were purely romantic, and anything more is just a pleasant unanticipated bonus. Get your mind out of the gutter. Can you take this off?” She pulls the hem of her shirt. “You’re wearing too much clothing.” 

“You’re still wearing a jacket,” Lawson says. “We’re in San Jose, aren’t you hot?” 

“Depends, do you think I’m hot?” 

“I hate you,” Lawson says, pushing the denim sleeves of Travis’ jacket off her shoulders. “Also, you’re wearing my shirt on purpose.” 

“How do you know it’s your shirt?” she says, mostly to be annoying, because she definitely is wearing Lawson’s shirt on purpose. “It’s just a plain white tee. Could belong to anyone, really.” 

“You’re such a brat,” Lawson says. 

“Maybe,” Travis says. “You kinda love me, though.” 

“Only because you kinda love me back,” Lawson says, and then they’re kissing again, Travis shedding her jacket entirely and working her shirt over her head, belatedly wondering if she should’ve gone for something nicer than a sports bra before deciding she doesn’t actually care. She’s never been super into nice clothes, which had kind of extended to underwear, even though she’d gone through a period of idly browsing for lingerie online, but she’d never actually bought any of it, never really wanted to. 

She wonders for a second what kind of bra Lawson’s wearing, except then she thinks back on the way Lawson’s chest had felt pressed up against hers and realizes that Lawson’s probably not wearing a bra at all, which is a thought that makes her brain short circuit. 

“Hey,” she says, her voice a little hoarse for a reason she can’t quite place, probably having something to do with the fact that she’s seriously considering boobs for the first time in her tenure as a lesbian. “How far are we taking this?” 

Lawson tenses up almost immediately, which isn’t quite what Travis had been hoping for. “As far as you want,” she says. “We don’t have to— we can just keep doing this, or we can stop, or— whatever.” 

“Do you not want to do more?” Travis says, suddenly nervous. 

Lawson shakes her head. “No, I mean— like, I don’t  _ not  _ want to. I mean, I  _ really _ want to, but not— I don’t want you to if you don’t want to.” 

“I want to,” Travis says quickly. “Uh, if you want to, I mean.”

“I already said I want to,” Lawson says. 

“Good,” Travis says. “So, just to be clear, we both— we want to have sex with each other, right?” 

“Right,” Lawson says. “Um, kind of a lot.” She looks at Travis in a way that makes Travis feel very much like she’s on fire, and Travis can see her nipples through the fabric of her shirt, and there’s a chance that Travis will die from being turned on before she actually gets a chance to have sex with her girlfriend. 

“Jesus, Law,” she says. “Let’s— bed.” 

“Good plan,” Lawson says. 

They make their way over to the unmade bed on the far side of the room, which, Travis realizes, is the bed Lawson had slept in last night, and when she sits down on the edge and feels that the fabric is warm, she thinks about Lawson curled up in these sheets, Lawson sleepily texting her last night unaware that Travis was boarding a plane to see her.

“Where’s your roommate?” Travis asks, kicking off her shoes as Lawson crawls onto the bed from the foot of it. 

“Stromer cleared out when you called,” Lawson says. 

“Nice,” Travis says, huffing out a laugh. “You should thank him later.” 

“I guess,” Lawson says, sounding distracted. “Um, how are we— what are we doing, exactly?” 

“I don’t know,” Travis says, turning to bring her feet up onto the bed and hug her knees to her chest. Law’s got her hands on her thighs, and Travis tries not to admire how huge they look when she’s sitting on her heels the way she is now. “I’ve never really done this with another girl.” 

“Neither have I,” Lawson says, her face bright red, and Travis’ probably isn’t doing much better. It’s an awkward conversation to start, and even more awkward when Travis can feel herself getting wet with anticipation, sees Lawson tug at the hem of her shorts. 

“I haven’t had sex with anyone in forever,” Travis continues. “But I guess— less clothes, more kissing, right?” 

“Right,” Lawson says. “But, uh— what do you, like, want?”

“Um,” Travis says, but then Lawson’s crawling toward her, and Travis lies back instinctively, spreading her legs apart to make room for Lawson as she braces herself over her body. Travis has never felt smaller, propped up on her elbows with Lawson looking down at her, hair falling around her face as the fabric of her shirt brushes the skin of Travis’ stomach, and she’s also never felt better about feeling small. 

“Like, do you want me to touch you?” Lawson says, and she’s still blushing, but her eyes are dark and her voice is low and a little husky. “Or do you want to touch me?” 

“All of it,” Travis says, before she can stop herself. She blushes, but she’s too overwhelmed to actually feel embarrassed. “Can I see you?” 

“What?” 

“Like— boobs.” She tugs at the hem of Lawson’s shirt. “I wanna see.” 

“Oh,” Lawson says, a little surprised, but she sits back then crosses her arms over her stomach and pulls her shirt off in one smooth motion, and Travis looks at Lawson sitting there shirtless on the bed, and— 

Okay, Travis doesn’t want to be dramatic, but she swears she can hear a chorus of angels singing somewhere in the distance. 

It’s just— Travis has always known that Lawson has big boobs, and that big boobs are attractive, but there’s a difference between knowing and appreciating. Travis has always been pretty flat-chested, which is convenient for hockey and for finding clothes that fit, and she’s never really envied Lawson’s curves, mostly because Lawson’s spent every second of her life complaining about her breasts since she got them. 

And she still doesn’t envy them, either, but she really just— she likes them, thinks they’re beautiful, because they’re objectively amazing boobs, and also, they’re Lawson’s boobs, and Travis likes every part of Lawson’s body. Lawson’s nipples are hard, bigger and a little lighter in color than Travis’, and Travis wants to touch and kiss every inch of them, except she also wants to stay right here and keep on staring. 

Travis opens her mouth, maybe like she’s gonna say something, but it’s very dry and her brain isn’t functioning well enough to form words, so she just sort of gapes dumbly as she takes in the sight in front of her. 

“TK?” Lawson says, sounding unsure. “You okay?” 

Travis is torn between saying something dumb, like  _ nice tits,  _ and something stupid, like  _ you look like a goddess and I want to erect a statue in your honor. _ She settles on, “You’re really fucking beautiful, Law.” 

Lawson’s blush shifts into something more pleased, and Travis thinks that whatever shade of pink is on Lawson’s face right now might be her favorite color ever. “Oh.” 

“Can I—” Travis reaches out a hand, and Lawson nods, so she cups one of Lawson’s breasts, sitting up so she can kiss Lawson as she does. She ends up kind of crawling into Lawson’s lap, straddling her, and she has to use one hand to balance herself there while the other explores the curves of Lawson’s torso. Her thumb brushes over Lawson’s nipple, and Lawson moans into her mouth, and it’s the best sound Travis has heard in her life for a few seconds, at which point Lawson lets out an even more incredible noise as Travis grazes her teeth over the sensitive skin of Lawson’s breast. 

“Holy fuck, Trav,” Lawson pants. “Let me touch you.” 

“Where?” 

“Everywhere,” Lawson says, tucking her fingers under the elastic of Travis’ sports bra. “Can I take this off?” 

Travis nods hastily, but ends up taking it off herself, because removing a sports bra is a one-woman endeavor. She’s on her back again in a second, and Lawson’s on top of her properly this time, their breasts pressed together as they kiss frantically, Travis’ hips thrusting up as she searches for friction on her clit. 

“Law—” Travis says, but she cuts herself off with a gasp when she finds Lawson’s thigh and grinds against it, throwing her head back and letting out a moan. She’s never felt this raw before, and it occurs to her that no one has ever seen her this turned on in her life. She’s probably never even been this turned on, because it’s always felt like something’s been missing from sex, and she’s not sure if it’s girls in general or Lawson specifically, but whatever it is, she has it now. 

“You like that,” Lawson says, and it’s not even a question. “You’re— fuck.” She sounds wrecked, and Travis feels wrecked, desperate at the same time, and it’s all so, so much. 

“Give me your hand,” Travis says, and before she knows what she’s doing, she’s guiding Lawson’s hand to the elastic waistband of her leggings. “Touch me,” she says. “Like, here.” 

“Like—” Lawson slips a finger underneath, runs a thumb over the top of the coarse hair that Travis is suddenly more aware of than she’s ever been before. “Like that?” 

Travis nods, blushing furiously. “Yeah.” 

“Alright,” Lawson says, removing her hand before hooking them into the waistband near Travis’ hips. “I’m gonna take these off now, okay?” 

“Okay,” Travis says, and she feels a little awkward as she lifts her hips and lets Lawson slide them off of her, and when she lies back down again, she’s totally naked, which feels a lot more like being exposed than she’d expected. 

Lawson looks her up and and down for a long beat. “God.” 

“Yeah?” 

“You just—” she gulps. “Sorry, it’s— I’ve liked you for so, so long.” 

“Oh,” Travis says. She’s not sure she has room to feel this overwhelmingly turned on and in love; she can do horny, and she can do sappy, but both at the same time feels like too much. 

“I just want to make this good,” Lawson says, putting a hand on Travis’ chest. It’s a gentle touch, and it probably shouldn’t get to Travis as much as it does, but there’s something about it—the way Lawson’s skin is hot, the way it feels careful, the way Lawson’s hand is so big it can cover her entire breast when Travis’ hand had been so small on Lawson’s—that really does her in. 

“You will,” Travis says, letting her head tip back. “As long as it’s you touching me, it’ll feel good.” 

Lawson hums, apparently satisfied with the answer, then leans down and starts kissing Travis’ neck, going lower, pausing to mouth at Travis’ nipple. 

“Don’t waste your time with those,” Travis says, even though it does feel pretty good, just good in a way that makes her want Lawson’s hand to be considerably lower down. “They’re tiny, yours are better.” 

“I don’t agree,” Lawson says, laughing a little breathlessly. “You do realize you’re, like, super fucking gorgeous, right?” 

Travis crinkles her nose. “I guess.” 

“You’re impossible,” Lawson says, and Travis would fight back, except Lawson is kissing her stomach, which kind of tickles, but mostly feels incredible. 

And then Lawson’s mouth is between Travis’ legs, hovering over her clit, and Travis is so exposed that she wants to push Lawson’s face away and slam her legs shut, and so turned on she wants to thrust her hips up so Lawson can just be touching her already.

“Can I just say,” Lawson says, running a thumb over Travis’ labia, which only makes Travis get wetter. Lawson is so close to actually touching her that she can probably feel Travis get wetter, actually. “I’m really glad you don’t shave, because it makes me feel better about not shaving.” 

Travis would kill her, if she wasn’t currently in the middle of having sex with her. 

“Wow, we match,” Travis says, doing her best attempt at deadpan even though her voice is strained. 

“It also— it looks nice.” Lawson removes her hand from Travis altogether and leans back a few inches, like she’s admiring Travis’ vagina, or something, which is flattering, except for how Travis sort of wants to scream at her to get a move on.

“Thinking of becoming a gyno, or something?” Travis says. 

Lawson looks up at her face, blinks, and actually has the audacity to smile, her terrible awful huge beautiful Lawson Crouse grin, and—  _ god, _ Travis has never hated anyone this much in her entire life, hasn’t loved anyone this much, either. 

“Sorry,” Lawson says, almost sheepish and still smiling. “Didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

“Oh, no, take your time,” Travis says. “I’m fine, really. I could stay like this all day.”

“So it’s okay if I—”

“Literally do whatever you want as long as you  _ fucking touch me.”  _

“Alright, alright,” Lawson says, and she presses her thumb to Travis’ clit without fanfare. 

It’s surprise and relief at once, and Travis moans, rocking her hips into the clumsy touch. “God, yeah, fuck.”

“That’s… good?” Lawson sounds unsure. 

Travis nods. “You’re touching me, aren’t you? You touching me is good.” 

“But—”

“We’re really not going for perfection here,” Travis says.

“Okay,” Lawson says. “I’m just gonna—” She moves her hand so that she’s got two fingers on Travis’ clit, and when Travis angles her hips a little to get both of them a better angle, she rubs one circle, quick, almost like she’s embarrassed. 

Travis feels herself clench down around nothing, moans even louder this time, her back arching as she tries to say words but can only whimper. She’s close, she realizes; she might actually get off in front of Lawson. Lawson might actually get her off. 

“That was good too?” Lawson says. 

“Fuck, yeah,” Travis says. “Do that a few more times, and I might— y’know.”

“Wait, for real?” Lawson’s voice drops to a whisper. 

“I think so,” Travis says. “Maybe?” 

“God.” Lawson moves her hand a little lower, circling Travis’ hole. “Is it— can I put my finger here?” 

Travis wonders how many times she’ll have to say yes before Lawson gets the message that she can do whatever she wants. “Please,” she chokes out. 

When Lawson slips a finger in, Travis doesn’t expect it to feel like much. She’s had sex with guys a few times, and she gets off on her own often enough, so she knows that when she’s this wet, she doesn’t really need to ease into things. One finger isn’t a huge amount in terms of, like, physical sensation, except she keeps forgetting that this isn’t just about physical sensation, and the other parts of it are just— it’s so  _ much,  _ knowing that Lawson is inside of her, feeling her finger poking around. Travis never enjoyed being fingered by guys back when she had sex with guys before, but this feels different, less like something happening because it should be happening, more like something that’s happening because they want to see what feels good. 

Travis hadn’t really hated sex with guys, the three times she’s had it; she’d liked the sensation of being full, and the mutual disinterest made it easy for her to close her eyes and just get off, sort of like a living, breathing sex toy that cleaned up after itself. But the having someone inside of her part—the sensation, the feeling of being close to another person that almost made her think that she could maybe picture herself actually liking a guy, someday—that had been really great. 

The point is, Travis wants  _ more, _ and what Lawson is giving her right now feels like teasing, and the only reason Travis isn’t begging her for another finger or two is because Lawson is clearly taking her time for a reason, and Travis doesn’t want to rush her. 

“It’s so wet,” Lawson says, sounding a little awed. 

“Yeah, well,” Travis says. “I’m kind of into you, or something.” 

“I know, but— it’s so  _ wet.”  _

“Have you never touched yourself?” 

“I have,” Lawson says. 

Travis is suddenly worried that there’s, like, something wrong with her; she knows every body is different, and that this isn’t a health concern, but she doesn’t want it to be something that Lawson finds gross or unappealing. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, not sure what she’s apologizing for. 

Lawson’s eyes shoot to her face, her brow furrowed, her pupils wide and dark. “What?” 

“If it’s too…” her voice trails off. “I don’t—” 

“It’s hot,” Lawson says quickly. “Fuck, it’s just— jesus, Trav, I can _ smell  _ you.” 

“God,” Travis says, letting her head fall back. 

“Can I—” Lawson does this weird thing where she, like, stiffens her tongue and pokes Travis’ clit with it, and Travis kind of yelps at the contact, but she doesn’t really comment on the strange hint, because she honestly wouldn’t know how to phrase it either. 

“Yeah,” Travis says. “Yeah, please.” 

“Okay.” Lawson looks unsure, but her finger is still moving inside Travis. “I’ve never done this before.” 

“We don’t have to—” 

“I want to,” Lawson says. “Just— I know what I like, when it’s happening to me?” 

“Then do that,” Travis says. 

“You don’t even know what it is,” Lawson says. 

“I don’t have any better ideas,” Travis says. “It’s fine if it doesn’t work perfectly, remember? We have time.” Not right now, per se, but— the offseason. Future impulsive cross-country flights. Maybe the rest of their lives, if Travis plays her cards right. 

“Right,” Lawson says. “I’m just gonna—” She leans forward, puts her mouth to Travis’ clit, and starts to suck in a way that creates enough pressure on it to have some effect, and keeps her finger inside of her, crooked a little bit so that it’s hitting Travis’ g-spot—or maybe they’re not supposed to call it that anymore, Travis isn’t sure—and it’s not exactly what Travis wants, but it feels amazing, and right now, she sort of wants to do what Lawson wants to do, see where it takes her. 

She doesn’t get any closer to an orgasm, but it still feels really fucking good, and she lets Lawson know as much, moans and pants and lets praise tumble out of her mouth as she thrusts her hips up a bit, sort of desperate for more, but happy with this for now. 

“Hey,” Lawson says, pulling away a bit. “Is this— do you think you could come? From this?” 

Travis can’t, probably, but Lawson clearly wants the answer to be yes, so Travis has a brief moral dilemma about it before deciding honesty is the best policy. 

“Not quite,” Travis says, and then, so Lawson doesn’t get self-conscious or think she was only pretending to enjoy this, she says, “Feels really good, though.” 

“But how can I make it better?” Lawson asks. 

“Dude,” Travis says. “It’s okay if you don’t make me come.” 

“I want to,” Lawson says. 

“I know,” Travis says. “But, like— no pressure, okay? That’ll just make it harder.” 

“Okay, but I still— if there’s anything I can do? That you’re thinking of? I wanna know,” Lawson says. 

“Um,” Travis says. “Okay, well—” She takes a second to figure out how to phrase this. “More fingers? Inside me? And then just— in and out with them, but your mouth— keep that the same.” 

“Okay, so, like—” Lawson slips another finger inside Travis, going slow and careful, like she’s not sure it’s too much. “Like this?” 

It’s better, but— “Uh, one more?” 

“Really?” Lawson’s eyebrows shoot up. “Three?” 

“Yeah,” Travis says, a little embarrassed. 

“That’s a lot,” Lawson says. “You don’t have to— y’know.” 

“It’s not about having to do anything. It just feels good,” Travis says. 

“Wow,” Lawson says. “That’s— I can’t usually handle three.” 

“It’s really not a competition,” Travis says. “We just have different vaginas.”

“I never said it was a competition,” Lawson says, adding a third finger. “This good?” 

“Yeah,” Travis says, mostly an exhale. Having Lawson inside of her is one thing, but feeling this full is something else entirely, overwhelming and perfect in every possible way. “Now just— move. And add your mouth.” 

“Okay,” Lawson says, almost dutiful, and Travis would tease her if she had the brain capacity to, but before she knows it, Lawson’s mouth is on her clit again, and it feels incredible. 

Lawson’s still too gentle at first, so Travis squirms a bit, hoping she’ll get the message, then finally says “Come on,  _ fuck  _ me,” when she gets a little more impatient. 

“God,” Lawson says, breath hot against Travis’ inner thighs. “This is fucking great.” 

“You’re telling me,” Travis gasps out, when Lawson finally pushes into her the way she wants to, hard and intense. “Yes, yes, just like that.” 

Travis does come eventually, though it takes a while, and is a lot more work than it usually takes when it’s just Travis on her own. She figures that’s to be expected, because she’s got her body figured out, and Lawson’s still learning her reactions. This is something she’s got plenty of patience for, though, so she perseveres, gets frustratingly close a few times before Lawson accidentally hits something at the wrong angle or her mind loses track of what she’s trying to do and brings her back to square one. 

But it does happen, and when it does, it’s a  _ lot,  _ the kind of thing she usually only experiences on her own when she actually bothers to take the time to make it good, instead of just getting off fast because she can’t sleep, or something. Lawson’s mouth manages to do all the right things to guide her through it, sucking just a little harder when Travis says she’s close, keeping her mouth on Travis as she comes harder than she ever has in her life. She can feel herself clenching around Lawson’s fingers, and based on the way she can feel Lawson shivering against the insides of her thighs, she bets Lawson can feel it right back, and it’s just— 

Travis has never felt closer to someone, never felt like she’s shared this much of herself with another human being before. She didn’t know it was possible to feel like this about someone else; she didn’t know that sex with someone you love felt like being taken apart. She feels spent, tired, almost dizzy, but mostly, she wants to cling to Lawson and never let her go. 

Maybe this is why people think that sex automatically makes you closer to people. It’s never been like this for Travis before, so she’d assumed the stuff people said about hormones being released was all bullshit, and she kind of still does. It doesn’t need any deep biological reasoning, just— they shared that. They did something amazing and terrifying and intimate, said things that people don’t normally say to each other, put a lot of themselves into making each other feel good. 

“Babe?” Lawson says, resting her elbows on Travis’ knees. “Everything good?” 

Travis nods, gulps a little. “Yeah,” she says, her voice hoarse. “God, yeah.”

“Was that… okay?”

Travis throws her arm over her eyes, smiles, and nods. “Yeah,” she says, almost laughing. “That was way more than okay, Law.” 

“Oh.” Lawson looks pleased, and so fucking cute, and Travis suddenly can’t believe she’s so far away. 

“Come here,” Travis says, making a grabby-hands gesture at Lawson. “I need to kiss you.”

“Need to, eh?” Lawson teases, but crawls closer. 

“Yes,” Travis says, then tugs Lawson in for a kiss, giggly for reasons she can’t quite place. 

It’s a little weird tasting herself, but Travis gets over it quickly. There are worse flavors in the world, and anyway, she can’t picture  _ not  _ kissing Lawson right now. Travis never realized that people actually did the cutesy, rolling-around-in-bed thing outside of movies, but even though there’s barely enough room for them to roll, they’re doing it, too full of this weird, giddy kind of energy to sit still, too obsessed with each other to stop making out. 

“Why are you wearing so much clothing?” Travis says, ghosting her hand over the button on Lawson’s shorts. “Come on, being naked is great.” 

“You never asked,” Lawson says, grinning. 

“I thought it was implied,” Travis protests. “By the whole thing where we’re in love, and having sex, and all that stuff?”

“That’s fair, I guess,” Lawson laughs, and she lets Travis unbutton her shorts before throwing her legs over the side of the bed and standing up to take them off, then flopping back down on the bed obnoxiously, lying with her hands behind her head, ankles crossed. 

“Are you posing?” Travis says, rolling over so she’s lying on her side, stomach pressed against Lawson. 

“Maybe,” Lawson says, shrugging a bit. “You’re the one who asked me to get naked.” 

“It wasn’t just so I could look,” Travis says, running a finger down the side of Lawson’s body. 

“I know,” Lawson says, her tone still light, but she blushes, and things feel a little more hot-and-heavy than light-and-giggly. 

“Is this okay?” 

“Yeah.” Lawson nods jerkily. “You— um, you can— if you wanna—”  

“Can I try to get you off?” Travis asks, cutting off Lawson’s sputtering. 

“Yes, that,” Lawson says. “You can, with your hand, just— not, like, inside? If that’s okay?” 

Travis is gonna have to talk to Lawson about using her words, but she figures the first time gets a free pass. “You mean just on your clit, then.” 

“If that’s okay,” Lawson says, and she looks embarrassed. 

“Anything is okay,” Travis says, corralling her tone into something serious. “If you don’t want me to—” 

“I do, I do,” Lawson says quickly. “I’ve just never— uh. Had an orgasm in front of someone else.”

Travis fights off the urge to question that; it’s not relevant to right now, and Lawson clearly doesn’t want to talk about it. “But you want me to get you off, right?” 

“If you want to—”

“Of course I want to, dipshit,” Travis says fondly, pressing a kiss to Lawson’s collarbone. “I just want to make sure you want me to.” 

“I really do,” Lawson says. 

Travis ends up staying right there to get Lawson off, rubbing her clit and watching Lawson’s body react; it’s a pretty powerful feeling, almost like Lawson’s spread out for her, but Travis tries to be gentle. Lawson’s more sensitive than Travis is, and also quieter, mostly expressing pleasure in gasps and cut-off breaths, and Travis finds that she likes having all her attention focused on Lawson. She’s a wonder to watch, and to touch, and there’s something magical about seeing her chest heave with heavy breath and know it’s because of something her fingers are doing. 

“I’m gonna come,” Lawson says, her voice almost squeaky, and she lets out these soft whimpers as she does. Travis rubs her through it with one hand, uses the other to push Lawson’s hair off her face in some instinctive gesture of reassurance. She’s not sure what Lawson needs reassuring about, but it’s apparently the right thing to do, because once Lawson’s breath is deep and steady again, she curls into Travis and holds her tight, and Travis holds right back. 

“Thank you,” Lawson murmurs into Travis’ hair. “That was so good.” 

“Good,” Travis says. “You’re fucking amazing.” 

“You’re the one who just got me off,” Lawson says. 

“You got me off first,” Travis says. “And you’re amazing when you get off.” 

“I make a dumb face,” Lawson says. 

“Who told you that?” Travis says, quickly straightening her back. “Whoever it is, I’ll fight them.”

“Oh my god, calm down,” Lawson says, with this small, almost tired laugh. “No one told me. I just— I’ve seen it in mirrors and stuff. It’s dumb.” 

Travis kisses her nose. “It’s beautiful,” she says.  _ “You’re _ beautiful. Thanks for letting me do that.” 

“What, get me off?” 

“Yes,” Travis says. “It’s a big deal, right? Thanks for— for letting me be the first to see.” 

“We’re gonna share a lot of firsts,” Lawson says, and Travis doesn’t say,  _ and hopefully lasts,  _ because that’s too much, even for them. 

“I’m looking forward to every single one,” Travis says, smiling and trying to lighten the mood, just so her heart stops feeling like it’s about to burst out of her chest. 

“When did you get sappy?” Lawson tangles a hand in Travis’ hair and tilts her head on the pillow, smiling all content. 

“Since I became a huge fucking lesbian,” Travis says. “Also, since I fell for you. So, I guess, always? Secretly?” 

“Yeah, that checks out,” Lawson says, and they grin at each other like idiots for a few more seconds before it gets to be too much for Travis to handle and she has to kiss Lawson again, lazy and easy and with no intention of coming up for air any time soon. 

…… 

“Okay, it’s been three days of you smiling non-stop, I’m officially scared,” Claude says, once the media has cleared out of the locker room. “Who are you and what have you done with the real TK? I miss that grumpy girl.” 

Travis shrugs, smiling even wider as she feels her phone vibrate in the pocket of her suit jacket. “I was first star tonight, can’t I be in a good mood?”

“This isn’t first star good mood,” Claude says. “And this has been going on since Columbus. Either you have a girlfriend or you’re a supervillain on the brink of world domination, and you have my support either way, but I wanna know which it is.” 

“Knowing her, it could be both,” Nolan says. 

Travis rolls her eyes. “You realize that if I were on the brink of world domination, I wouldn’t tell you.” 

“Why not?” Claude says, sounding offended. “I’d totally be here for Supreme Overlord TK.”

“I wouldn’t,” Nolan says flatly. 

Travis ignores him. “How do I know you’re not just trying to get on my good side so you can stop my ascent to power?”

“How do I know you’re not just talking about world domination because you don’t want to admit that you have a girlfriend?” 

“Touché,” Travis says. 

She pulls her phone out of her pocket, looks at the text on the screen from Lawson.  _ you’re fucking amazing babe.  _

_facetime in a bit?,_ Travis types, and then she says, “World domination may or may not be in my future, but I wouldn’t say I’m on the brink of it.” 

“So,” Claude says, dragging out the word and gesturing for Travis to finish the sentence, but Travis just rolls her eyes, more fond than anything else, and starts to make her way out of the dressing room.

“You’re so annoying,” Travis says. “I’m gonna call her just so I can complain about you.” 

“Making a smooth exit won’t get you out of a congratulatory hug,” Claude says, but Travis is already letting the door swing shut behind her and hitting ‘call’, absently fixing her hair as she waits for her to answer, even though she knows it’s more or less a lost cause, no matter how many times she untucks and retucks it behind her ears. 

Lawson, predictably, is smiling when she answers the call. “Hey, babe.” 

“Hi,” Travis says, her heart kind of fluttering at the way Lawson calls her ‘babe’. It’s been her go-to term of endearment for years, but it feels different now that they’re actually together. “Do you ever have those days where you kind of just feel like you could rule the world?” 

“Yeah, actually,” Lawson says, her smile turning into something even more brilliant, which Travis thinks might defy the laws of physics. “I’ve had a few of those lately.” 

“Same here.”

“So it’s not about being first star, I take it,” Lawson says.

Travis knows her face must look so dumb right now, but Lawson’s looking at her like she’s the sun and moon and stars all at once, so she can’t bring herself to regret it. 

“Nope,” she says. “I think this one’s all you.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings:  
> -implied bg nico/nolan, a brief appearance of dylan strome and mentions of nick merkley. flyers tv host andrea helfrich appears as well.  
> -there’s reference to a character who identifies as a lesbian having had sex with men in the past.  
> -the genderbent characters who are explicitly referenced in the story are travis, lawson, claude, ivan provorov, and mitch marner.  
> -assumptions about sexuality/coming out are made imperfectly.
> 
> Fun stuff!  
> -i have so much in my head about the bg pairings in this! nolan/nico and nick/dylan and claude’s general existence! pls lmk if you have questions i’m dying to talk about them.  
> -travis texting nolan at some point while she’s in san jose: girlfriend obtained. happy vday nerd, glad were not dating each other, i kinda love u also can u pls pick me up at the airport tonight?  
> -please take a moment to picture claude and tk at pride together. claude doesn’t want to push the whole “you are my lesbian daughter i have adopted you” thing on tk but tk is so down for some gay guidance honestly.  
> -as i was writing this julia put this idea in my head (im paraphrasing b/c i can’t find the convo rn): nolan sends tk a text meant for nico and immediately calls her and is like “hey please ignore my last text” and so obviously travis opens it, takes screenshots, and laughs for a million years.  
> -in the comments on this gdoc ash wrote “TKATHAN” which is a mood  
> -i’ve never been to the neon museum, but according to my partner’s endlessly helpful and comprehensive feedback, it’s “cool.” it was on a real list of best places to see the vegas sunset.  
> -travis continues to be unable to function in the presence of andrea helfrich for the rest of her life, which, same.  
> -the world domination bit at the end had me thinkin about how these two would lend themselves very well to a d.e.b.s. au with tk as lucy diamond and law as amy.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] Craters and Petals (Concrete and Metal)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17719544) by [Annapods](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annapods/pseuds/Annapods)




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